


Welcome to Backwater

by keelywolfe



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Angst, Creepy, Depression, Disabled Character, First Meetings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild Horror, Recreational Drug Use, Supernatural Elements, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Papyrus/Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Sans (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface, midwestern gothic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 66,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27619490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: Stretch isn't running away, not really.He took the bus.Only to end up in a little town in the middle of nowhere, meeting unusual people, dealing with unexpected happenings, what the hell is going on in this place?
Relationships: Papyrus/Papyrus (Undertale), Spicyhoney, Underfell Papyrus/Underswap Papyrus
Comments: 417
Kudos: 223





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

Stretch honestly wasn’t sure what state he was in anymore. Not philosophically, but literally, as in United States of etcetera. He’d drowsed off with his skull leaning against the cool glass of the bus window somewhere around three am, the drone of the wheels on asphalt lulling him and the darkness outside broken only by the brief, glaring flash of the occasional car passing by.

When he woke again the sun was high in the sky and the view outside was a blur of endless green. Fields of it as far as the eye could see, corn, maybe, he wasn’t up on all the traditional crops of the Aboveground or at least not enough to know them by sight.

His legs were cramped from being curled up on the seat next to him all night and Stretch shifted with a grimace to put his sneakers back on the floor. Didn’t exactly uncramp him, he was too tall for that, but it did change the angle so, hey, at least a small favor.

The rest of the bus was more empty than not, the other passengers mostly sitting on their own, sleeping or reading or playing on their phones. None of them gave him even a passing glance and that was fine by him. Probably got all their stares in last night when they first got on the bus. There’d been plenty of side-eyes and outright stares as Stretch made his way down the aisle to an empty seat. No surprise there, Monsters had been on the surface for a couple of years now, but it wasn’t like there was enough of them to make a sighting anything less than exotic for Humans. He was more grateful that no one tried to talk to him, eager to make a Monster Friend like they were a fucking Pokémon to add to their collection.

He’d met plenty of Humans like that over the years; put them off politely and they only tried harder, put them off rudely and they got loudly pissed. Couldn’t win that game and eventually Stretch got tired of trying.

He let his head fall back on the padded headrest with a sigh, closing his sockets. Not much point in thinking about that right now, that was the sort of shit that landed him on this bus.

His grungy backpack was on the floor, overstuffed to the point of the zipper straining and the sleeve of a spare hoodie trailing out of the side like an extra arm. Stretch managed to contort himself enough to reach down and dig his headphones out of the side pocket, relieved to find them charged for once. He poked the earbuds into his audial canals, heh, earbuds with no ears, it sounded like the start of a bad joke, and turned on a playlist. Soothing eighties, that seemed to fit in with the scenery outside. Or maybe not; from the occasional run-down barn the bus sped past, their peeling paint still advertising Mail Pouch chewing tobacco, this place didn’t seem to have crawled out of the sixties yet.

He was barely through the first song when the sorrowful refrain about the boys of summer was cut off by his phone letting out a persistent buzz. His brother’s picture popped up on the lock screen and it was probably his imagination making that sweet, smiling face look so judgmental.

Probably.

His thumb hesitated over the answer button before decisively settling on decline and he’d barely settled back into his seat with the melodious voice of Don Henley when it started up again. He let it go this time, every short burst of buzzing echoing through his skull until it stopped. It didn’t ring again.

By then the song had changed to ‘No One Is To Blame’, Stretch went ahead and skipped it. He didn’t really need to chew on any irony right now, it would kill his appetite for breakfast.

* * *

It was a few more hours before the bus pulled off for a pit stop and by then, Stretch was ready to start chewing on his chair arm. Might’ve if he thought the seats had been cleaned anytime in the past decade. He didn’t have a stomach, exactly, but they still needed to eat to replenish their magic and the hollow gnawing of his hunger was making him lightheaded.

Come to think about it, he wasn’t even sure when he’d last eaten. Sometime before yesterday morning, maybe even the night before when he’d sat picking at the meal his brother spent so much time making, trying not to see the worry in those starry-eye lights, silently hoping Blue didn’t say anything past ‘good night’. Shouldn’t have wasted the wish, not like they ever came true, anyway. The stars he’d wanted so much to see lived up to the ‘twinkle twinkle’ advertisement, the ‘wish upon a star’ part, not so much.

When he’d stuffed his backpack before heading off to the station, he hadn’t thought far enough ahead to even grab a granola bar or a bag of chisps. All he’d been thinking about was getting it done, getting out, down to the station to hop the first bus going anywhere.

That bus rolled to a stop with a loud hiss of compressed air, the bored-looking driver yanking the door lever open. Stretch let all the Humans get off the bus first, shuffling their sleepy, dead-eyed way down the aisle as they groaned and stretched, many of them already reaching for cigarettes. The last thing he needed was a rough elbow from some impatient jackass who couldn’t wait another minute to load up on gas station chili dogs for the trip. He waited until the last Human was almost off before making his own way down, the laces of his untied sneakers trailing behind him as he shuffled his way out.

After hours in the air conditioning, the humid air was almost stifling, the smell of gasoline thick along with the smog of exhaust.

The gas station was about as unimpressive as the barns they’d passed. No shiny neon signs here advertising regular and premium below a well-lit emblem of a Shell or a BP. Not even a bright red ‘Kum and Go’ to make adults snicker quietly above confused children’s heads. The ancient pumps looked as if their first service was to the Model T and every time the door opened it was heralded by the loud, rickety clang of a cow bell.

He was itching for a cigarette of his own, but not on an empty stomach. Might be out of luck for chili dogs after all in a place like this, but there was still hope. According to the travel guide he’d filched from the bus depot back in Ebott, this was the exact sort of place that might carry such exotic foods as pasties or whoopie pies. The guide didn’t have any pictures, but Stretch was hungry enough to take a chance.

He made his way across broken asphalt studded with cigarette butts and old chewing gum, already hungrily ready for at least a Snickers bar. Maybe that hunger was why Stretch didn’t see the short guy coming out the door, completely oblivious to the clanging warning of the cowbell as he rammed right into him and nearly knocked the overflowing paper sack right out of his hands. Both of them grabbed for it automatically, fumbling to keep from dropping it and instead the brown paper tore from top to bottom and sent a shower of cans tumbling down to the sidewalk.

“fuck!” Loudly said in two voices, very nearly in unison. Stretch was already on his hands and knees collecting silver cans with ‘Coors’ scrawled across their condensation-dewed sides. The shorter guy took a minute longer, bracing himself on a cane as he slowly reached for a can that’d rolled over to an overflowing pedestal ashtray.

“man, i’m sorry,” Stretch panted, snatching up the last can that was attempting to set a world record escape to the gas pumps.

“ain’t your fault,” the short guy grunted as he struggled back to his feet. “bag was damp from the beers.”

Now that Stretch wasn’t trying to herd cans, he got a better look and what he saw froze him in his tracks. He couldn’t not stare, not when his beer bumper was another Monster and more than that, another skeleton. Which was bizarre, Stretch only knew two other skeleton Monsters aside from his own brother and this was absolutely not one of them. None of them had jagged, sharky teeth and blood-red eye lights, a nasty looking crack running narrowly through one socket.

Nor did they need a cane to help them along on beer runs and the other skeleton was struggling to gather the cans up in his arms. He tucked two into his jacket pockets and tried jimmying the others into the crook of his elbow, but one of them squirted free and launched into the air.

Stretch caught it before it got too accustomed to flight, barely managing not to drop the already dented can back on the pavement. “here, let me help,” Stretch said.

The other skeleton was already shaking his head, reaching for the can, “nah, i live right around the corner, i’ll stack ‘em by the curb and make another trip.”

Yeah, because half the people from the bus wouldn’t wander out of the station and take advantage of the offering of free beer, that wasn’t gonna work. “at least let me get another bag from the clerk.”

The skeleton snorted aloud, “mitch don’t hand out bags, brought that one myself from my store.” He hesitated and added, reluctantly, “but if you really wanna give me a hand, the two of us can carry ‘em pretty easy.”

The bus was only on a fifteen-minute stop, gas, grub, and go. Anyone not in their seat got left behind according to his ticket stub, stated boldly in oversized text, and there probably wasn’t another bus station where he could catch a ride for fifty miles.

Stretch gave the street they were on a glance. They were in the middle of a shaggy, rundown sort of town, this gas station was probably the only one around. Barely he could see a plain, unlit sign on the building on the other corner that said starkly, ‘Groceries’. The local restaurant was probably called ‘Eats’, everything was fried up in the same bacon grease poured out from an old coffee can, even the pie. It was a screaming advertisement for the kind of Podunk town where everybody knew everyone, and outsiders were looked at with jaundiced suspicion.

And a Monster lived here.

Stretch took a couple more beers that were threatening to make another escape from the other skeleton’s arm and shrugged. “lead the way.”

It was slow going, not only because Stretch’s legs were about as long as the other guy was tall, but the other skeleton had a pretty bad limp, grunting with each step he took. Stretch hoped guiltily he hadn’t made anything worse by nearly knocking him on his ass, but if he had, the guy didn’t complain.

True to his word, they didn’t have far to go. The skeleton led the way towards that grocery sign, unlocking the door with a heavy, old-fashioned key that looked like it would be more at home in a castle rather than a grocery store in midwestern Cornsville. He pulled the door open enough for Stretch to grab it, another cowbell jangling overhead like an epidemic, and he held it open while both of them shuffled inside into a renewed rush of blissful air conditioning.

The grocery store didn’t exactly live up to its name. Maybe it was more a grocery shop or even ‘market’ with no ‘super’ tacked in front. The groceries consisted pretty much of a few rows of tall racks and a couple coolers, the shelves lined with cans, toilet paper, and other random dry goods. There was a wide counter by the door with a register sitting on it that’d probably been there for a hundred years and an incongruous credit card scanner nestled against its side.

The skeleton dropped his beers on the counter with a clatter of aluminum. He hopped up on a tall stool and popped open the cash drawer, shoving a couple bills into it as he waved a hand at the scarred wood of the bare countertop. “you c’n set the beers here. help yourself ta one.”

Beer wasn’t exactly what he’d been thinking about for breakfast but Stretch popped the tab anyway and took a long drink, unable to help a grimace at the bitter taste. The other skeleton let out a chuckle that deteriorated into a phlegmy cough, grabbing his own can and gulping down half of it in one swig.

Stretch looked around the shop, at the cans of beans and pickle jars with a fine layer of dust, out the front window where the view of the town was obscured by a couple years’ worth of blurry fingerprints. “you know any place i can get a room around here?”

The skeleton raised both brow bones. He finished off his beer and let out a mellow belch as he popped the tab on another. “planning on hanging around for a while?”

“maybe,” Stretch said, then shrugged. “probably. if i can find a job.”

The other skeleton considered that. His phalanges were sharp at the tips, chipping new little pits into the countertop as he drummed his fingers on it. He came to some sort of conclusion, his toothy grin widening, “tell ya what, i might be able to help ya out with both. you mind the store in the mornings,” he patted the countertop and ran his fingers lovingly over the ancient register, “and ya can stay in the spare room over the shop. ain’t much, but there’s a bed an’ a window. might be enough for a while.”

It sounded like a pretty good deal. A little too good and Stretch squinted suspiciously. “why?”

That grin soured. “let’s say ya got a trustworthy face. looks a lot more like mine than anyone else around these parts, too.”

That made Stretch wince a little, confirming what he already expected. They were the only Monsters in town and from the unkempt look of the store, the locals weren’t that keen about having them around. Be stupid to stay in a place where he knew he wasn’t wanted, even stupider than letting the bus go on without him.

In his pocket his phone buzzed loudly, making him jump. It buzzed once, twice, then Stretch reached in and pressed the silence button. Then he held out a hand to the other skeleton. “deal.”

To his surprise, the skeleton gave his hand a long look, studying it. Nothing to see but plain bone, his own fingertips blunted, and with a yellowish nicotine stain between the first and second knuckles. Stretch almost pulled it awkwardly back but before he could, the skeleton reached out and took it, shaking it almost painfully hard. “deal. guess now that i’m your boss, you’ll need my name. you can call me red.”

“stretch.”

The other skeleton, Red, laughed loudly and slapped his good knee, “yeah, that suits ya.” He hopped off the stool and limped around the countertop. “c’mon upstairs, there’s a shower, too. might want to put it to good use. welcome to backwater, kid, hope you stay a while.”

* * *

Red’s dour description of the room wasn’t quite accurate. For one, the room was larger than Stretch pictured, nearly the size of the shop beneath it. There was a bed, yeah, but also a card table and a couple chairs. In one corner there was a television so ancient there was a set of elderly rabbit ear antenna on top. But the whole setup was less dusty than the store downstairs, like maybe the previous tenant wasn’t that long gone.

Stretch didn’t ask. Sometimes not knowing made it easier to sleep at night.

The promised shower was in a bathroom only slighter larger than a closet, the hot water heater groaning audibly and pouring out a grudging trickle through the showerhead that spent alternating minutes as lava hot and icy cold. Despite that, it felt good to rinse away the layer of road dust he’d accumulated, soaping up with a leftover sliver of soap he found.

When he got out of the shower, a threadbare towel around his pelvis offering limited protection to his modesty, there was a steaming bowl on the table. Filled with a thick stew, blobs of meat floating in a greasy gravy, and a hunk of bread with it, along with another beer.

Stretch wolfed it all down hungrily, easing the last of his physical discomforts, then flopped down on the narrow bed. Red had told him to take the day to settle in and he could start work tomorrow. That sounded like advice well worth taking. He had a place, he had a job, and he had his phone on silent. He could text his bro tomorrow.

Yeah.

He turned on the television, but no matter how he moved the antenna, the only show that came in was static. He switched it back off, contemplated Netflix on his phone, and then decided that sleep was probably the number one choice for entertainment today.

The mattress was thin, the springs threatening to poke through the worn layers of cushion, but right now it might as well be stuffed with angel wings. Stretch closed his sockets and let sleep claim him.

* * *

Stretch wasn’t sure of the time when he woke, the former sunshine streaming in turned to a darkness deeper than he’d seen since they came out from under the mountain. No hint of bitter moonlight crept in through the curtainless window.

He leaned up on an elbow and tried to kick the tangled blanket around his legs loose, his sleep-tainted thoughts slow in coming back online.

When his mind finally booted up, Stretch flopped back on the sagging mattress with a groan. He was in the little town of Backwater, that was right, in the room above Red’s shop. An unfamiliar place, that was all, the only ghosts around here were his own memories, the only sound his own breathing. He wondered sleepily what had woken him, giving the picture window that took up half of the side wall a glance, and went utterly still.

Eyes. A deep, unrelenting gleam of crimson coals staring in at him from the other side of the glass. Stretch couldn’t move, terror welling up thick and rancid, a primordial fear rising into his throat from his soul, shivering its way like a sin down his spine.

That crimson gaze flickered in a blink and Stretch let out a hoarse cry, his paralysis broken enough for him to scramble back, heels kicking at the covers as he cowered against the wall, waiting for the crash of breaking glass. Long minutes of nothing ticked by, his panic slowly fading, and when Stretch opened his sockets again, there was nothing outside the window but blackness, not so much as the yellowish aura of a streetlamp peeking in.

“fuck.” Stretch rubbed his forearm over his sockets, blinking hard, and looked again. Nothing, exactly as it should be outside a second-story window. He sank back against the mattress, swallowing down the hysterical little laugh that tried to bubble its way out.

“jus’ a dream,” he mumbled aloud and hearing his own voice was steadying. A dream, yeah, an eerie little hallucination brought on by too much beer and too little food, all wrapped up in this strange place. Stretch dragged the thin blanket back over him and rolled to his side, defiantly giving the window his back as he settled in to sleep. Tomorrow was gonna be a busy day and he was gonna need all the rest he could get.

He fell easily back into a weary, dreamless sleep and never noticed that crimson stare returning, gazing through the glass like deep red lamplight cutting through the darkness.

* * *

-tbc


	2. Meet and Greet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a heads up, I'd give this story a warning for mild horror and mild gore. None of our boys, but better to let y'all know!

* * *

For the next week Stretch spent most of his time trying to figure out the method in the madness to Red’s store management. His first day of ‘training’ pretty much consisted of Red showing up long enough to demo the cash register and then shuffling off to the apartment at the back where he lived. Not that pushing a couple of numbered buttons was that complicated, but that wasn’t the only issue cropping up around here along with the local corn.

First of all, nothing in the shop was priced. All the items were recorded in a ragged notebook with coffee ring stains on the cover, where Stretch got to figure out if an item fell under the category of ‘toilet paper’, ‘paper, toilet’, ‘ass wipers’, or ‘shitty ass wipers’, all written in Red’s sloppy handwriting. The sheer number of items that fell under ‘ass’ and ‘shitty’ were staggering.

Turned out, the little store actually did a fair amount of business. Plenty of Humans stopped in to pick up one or two things rather than drive to the nearest Wally World which according to Granny Collemore, who Stretch was guessing was the unofficial town gossip, was better than a thirty-minute drive away. 

“Don’t need to be driving an hour for a little bum tissue,” she bellowed happily, “shopping day is Sunday, we’ll stock up then!” 

Stretch nodded as he rang her up, wincing away from her volume. He’d figured out pretty quickly that the old woman was stone deaf, but she didn’t seem to care if all she got was a smile and plenty of nods, so that was fine. 

She handed over a wad of cash pulled from a little embroidered change purse that let out a puff of lavender so strong when she opened it that it overshadowed the store’s normal musty smell, hollering the whole time. By the time she left, Stretch knew enough about the local weather patterns to make a rain prediction and that the way someone named Pritchard was hamming on a pretty young’un Eloise meant they’d best be married soon ‘fore it turned into a shotgun wedding. He nodded along with every proclamation, hurrying around the counter to open the door for her and ended up spending five minutes waiting for her to shuffle her way out, her bunny slippers leading the way.

But as she was leaving, she reached up and gave him a gentle pat on the cheekbone, her wrinkled hand barely able to reach. “You’re a nice boy,” she told him, too loud and with a pink, gummy smile. 

Stretch was too startled to flinch away and only managed to mumble a thank you as she headed off into the growing heat of the morning, a hunched figure in a flowery dress and pink slippers, her bag of emergency tp bumping against her hip as she trundled along. 

That was another thing. He’d thought that the Humans around here would be distrustful, even malicious, but that wasn’t proving to be the case. Aside from a little surprise when they first saw him, all the customers so far were small-town kindly. Kids came into the shop to raid the nickel-candy rack, their bikes left in piles outside as excited groups came roaring in. Mothers came in with babies wearing only their diapers, fanning themselves and laughing out their, ‘my, isn’t it a hot one today?’ as they bought a half-gallon of milk and some fresh apples to put in the bottom of their strollers.

No one in town seemed to care that he was a Monster past asking his name and maybe it was just ‘cause of Red being a skeleton, too. Could be that Granny Collemore was out there somewhere bellowing that the local shopkeeper had family visiting, who knew? It was sure different than he was used to. The general sentiment in Ebott about Monsters was resentment; over them taking jobs, enrolling in the schools, whatever it was, they didn’t want Monsters doing it. 

It was…nice, he decided, to not have someone dislike him on sight.

That was how he spent his mornings. He worked in the shop, idly dusting, putting away the deliveries that a guy in the pickup truck and overalls brought in daily, and borrowing Red’s wifi to listen to soft music on his phone. The calls had trickled to only once a day and the glaring red alert number of his messages kept climbing. 

Stretch didn’t look at them, only skipped right over to Spotify and the 'The Wedding Singer Divorce Special pt 2' playlist.

Red came in every day to relieve him at around two. He grunted out something that resembled a hello as he heaved himself up on the stool, leaning his cane against it as he pulled out a battered romance novel from beneath the counter. The creased cover did not in the slightest hide the young, scantily-clad woman caught up in a fiery embrace with her highland Lord. 

“be back later,” Stretch said as he hung up his apron. Not that it mattered, wasn’t like Red was his dad or even a friend, not really, and he didn’t care when Stretch came home. A couple times they’d eaten together, takeout from the local diner that was imaginatively called ‘Mama’s’, not ‘Eats’, watched a little television but that was it. His lack of idle chitchat was the complete opposite of Blue’s constant stream of chatter and after years of that, the silence was kinda disconcerting, but maybe not in a bad way. 

Red didn’t even look up from his book, only pulled a crumpled bill out of his pocket and pushed it across the counter, “pick up some beer at the station, wouldja?”

“sure,” Stretch said, almost grateful for something else to do. It was miles better than sitting the rest of the day in his little room with its faded, floral wallpaper where the air conditioning wasn’t quite able to combat the heat of the mid-afternoon sun. He’d done that once, the first day, and after that made a point of staying out of his room until sundown to give it chance to cool off. 

The town itself wasn’t much more than a bunch of ramshackle houses. To the west were fields, the leafy tops of what Stretch was now certain was corn rustling in the wind. Off to the east, the landscape slowly went from flat plains to trees, their wilting leaves yellowing in the heat and ending in a wooded area that surrounded maybe half the town. Shame it was too far away provide much shade unless you went walking right into it. Main street consisted of a few other public buildings; a tractor store right up next to the thrift shop, a little one-room schoolhouse with an attached shed that served as the town library, the Sheriff’s office, and the movie theater. 

On the outskirts of town there was also a bar, The Whistling Cow, its glowing neon sign a single point of orange light on dark nights. As much as Stretch wanted a drink, he stuck with filching beer from the cooler Red kept under the counter. Hanging around with strange, drunk humans usually didn't end well for him. 

The movie theater was where he’d taken to heading after work. Someone with a sense of humor must’ve named the place, since ‘The Grandeur’ literally only had one theater and maybe thirty seats, if that. The proprietor ran the ticket booth and the concession stand, and in his threadbare uniform with its yellowing shirt, he looked a lot like Lurch's second cousin, once removed. 

But he was a nice enough fella and it was a good way to waste some time. Even if the only movies showing were old black and whites, the popcorn was fresh, with real butter, and the added bonus of air conditioning. Besides, the Three Stooges were funny as shit any old day. 

That was where Stretch was headed today; the afternoon showing only cost two bucks, then another for popcorn and he was set for a few hours. It was better than trying to get anything to tune in on the television in his overboiled room. With a lot of coaxing, he might manage to get a PBS channel, but there was only so much time a person could spend sweating their way through a staticky version of Sesame Street. 

Stretch got to his seat just as the lights were going down, settling in with his popcorn. Before the movie there were a few cartoons, and it was kinda wild to get to see Steamboat Willy chugging along on the big screen again. 

Today’s flick was an honest to bitsy silent movie and Stretch watched with a wide grin as Charlie Chaplin slap-schticked his way across the stage. There were a few other people in the seats, at least one of them snoring; probably only came to get out of the summertime heat. 

But it wasn’t really the movie he was here for. Not today.

He’d seen her the first time he came. Sitting in the far back row, not that uncommon, some people liked to sit far away. No one else seemed to notice her and that wasn’t strange either. Normally even he didn’t pay much attention to anyone else in the theater, who did? So long as a person was quiet, made no ripples in the pond, no one saw them. Movies were for escapism, not to make new friends. 

But this lady. To begin with, her clothes were about a century out of date, with her pink suit and matching pillbox hat, her white gloves, and whenever the house lights came up while they switch the reel, she vanished without even a shimmer of dust motes, only returning once the darkness did. 

He’d been back three times so far and she’d been in the theater for every showing. Sitting on her own watching the flick, always in the same seat. This time, Stretch was sitting in the seat next to it. He munched his buttery popcorn and watched as Charlie Chaplin-ed his way through the movie. He didn’t have to wait long. 

None of the Humans noticed. The black-and-white light coming from the screen was dim enough that anyone sitting in the audience was nothing but a shadow. Humans tended towards the unobservant side, anyway, none of them had to be as aware of their surroundings as a Monster did, especially one like Stretch with only 5 HP between him and dust. 

Besides, there wasn’t any fanfare about it. One minute the chair next to him was empty and the next, a young woman was sitting there, her hands clasped primly in her lap as she looked up at the movie with rapt attention. 

“like the movies, huh?” Stretch said, very softly. “always wanted to be an actor myself, but i don’t have the _guts_ for it.”

Waste of a good pun, he didn’t even think the woman had a chance to notice he was a skeleton. She startled, one faintly translucent hand flying to her mouth as if to stifle a scream. Stretch only munched on another piece of popcorn and let her gather her wits or ectoplasm or whatever ghosts had. Wasn’t like he had room to talk, the inside of his skull was as hollow as a drunken apology. 

She settled quick enough and asked in a wispy little voice, “you can see me?”

Stretch slouched back and propped his sneakers up on the seat in front of him. “sure. it’s a monster thing. we see things that humans don’t, sometimes.” Or didn’t bother to see, Stretch wasn’t sure which. 

“Sometimes they see me,” she admitted. “but they always run away.”

Yeah, Stretch couldn’t really blame them for that one. Humans weren’t used to ghosts, not the way Monsters were, and now that he was sitting up close, he could see the way she flickered a little, that pretty face sometimes flashing onto something else, half still pretty as a picture from an old magazine and the other a bloody ruin. There was a gaping hole on one side of her head, her blonde hair matted into dark clumps, and one blue eye stared out, unseeing. There were flecks scattered on the shoulder of her pink suit, chips of ivory, and Stretch knew enough about bones to recognize skull fragments. Another flicker and it was gone, only a pretty young Human woman looking back at him. The effect was a little off-putting, true, but it wasn’t like she could help it. 

Besides, Stretch didn’t _have_ to look. He was watching the movie. 

“what’s your name?” he asked, softly.

She hesitated and he wondered if she didn’t want to tell him or if she didn’t know. Her eyes were large, absurdly long lashes sweeping against her cheeks as she considered. When she spoke again her voice was a little stronger, surer, “Doris.”

“doris, my name is stretch,” he told her, “and it is a pleasure to meet you.” 

They sat together in silence for a little while. The music coming brightly from the speakers was as cheerful as a carousel, offering happiness and humor when she spoke again abruptly. “I know this is very forward. But. Could you do something for me?”

“maybe,” Stretch said, a little wary. Better not to make promises to unknown ghosts, they could get tetchy.

She smiled, a wry curve of lips as if she could hear his thoughts. “Your popcorn.”

He looked down at the paper cup in his hand, still half-full of buttery kernels. “you want some?” he asked, bemused.

She let out a whispery laugh, like a wind rustling through summer cattails. “No, but. Can I smell it?”

Oh. “sure.” He held the cup out and she leaned over it, inhaling deeply, or, well, looked like she did, he didn’t think ghosts actually breathed, but who knew? When she bent down twin ribbons of blood ran from both her nostrils, dark and slick. It didn’t drip into the popcorn, couldn’t, it wasn’t present in the same way the little carton was, but he felt his appetite fade. He still politely pretended not to notice. 

She leaned back with a happy sigh and all signs of the blood were gone. “Thank you. I go behind the counter sometimes to smell it, but it’s not the same.”

“i bet. gotta be in a paper bucket or it ain’t right.” If she could go out to the concession stand, that meant at least she wasn’t stuck sitting in this one seat. Maybe it was just her favorite. “you get out much?” He jerked his head towards the door, “outside, i mean.”

“No,” She shook her head sadly, and her hair brushed her shoulders. “I have to stay in the theater.”

He nodded sympathetically. That was gonna make this a little harder, but not too much. He liked the movies, anyway. “yeah, it works that way sometimes. but hey, i’ll stop back in and see you again. if that’s okay?”

She brightened visibly, coming sharply into focus like a lens turned on a camera, until the chair behind her only barely showing through. “Would you?”

Now that was a vow he could make and Stretch sketched a cross over his chest with a finger and said solemnly, “i promise.”

Their chat must’ve been getting a little loud. Someone was turning around in the front seats. The room was too dark to see, but he didn’t have to witness a glare to feel it. Stretch slouched down in his seat and took the hint.

Hey, he’d made a friend. Well, most of one and it was the important part. A soul without a body was a lot nicer than a body without a soul, hands down. 

Which made him wonder about the gas station attendant, because Mitch made Red seem like a warm, outgoing person. 

The ancient artwork on the front window of the gas station showed a shiny, smiling attendant in a tidy uniform, his neatly cut hair almost hidden beneath his cap as he held up a dripping gas nozzle in offering. That guy must’ve gotten promoted out of state, because the only dress code Mitch followed was ‘fuck it, looks clean.’ Long, straggly hair poked out from his dirty baseball cap and, of all things, he was reading the New York Times, the business section. 

His saving grace was that his disinterest in all customers was universal. Mitch was an equal opportunity kind of guy; he didn’t give a shit about anyone.

Stretch opened the door carefully so that the cowbell only gave a muted clang. He hesitated inside the door and decided to brave a question. Hey, he’d made one friend today, may as well push his luck. “you got any coffee on?” 

It was a pretty safe bet, even as hot as it was. Coffee wouldn’t help with the sweat that was already dampening his shirt from walking over from the theater, but Stretch felt a little unsteady from meeting Doris. He could use a dose of caffeine to shore him up.

Mitch didn’t look up from his paper, but he jerked his chin towards the back wall. “Yep, but the only coffee I got is hot. Ain’t no ‘spressos around here, Slick.”

“Hot is fine.” He didn’t bother correcting him on the name. Started with an S, close enough, they’d be best pals in no time. The carafe of coffee smelled surprisingly fresh, considering that Mitch looked like he’d been holding that chair down for a few hours. There was a plastic basket next to the carafe filled with little coffee mate creamer cups. He added four French vanilla, carrying his murky coffee up to the counter with Red’s six-pack. Beer was one thing they didn’t sell at the store, no alcohol at all, something to do with the liquor laws in this county and Red not paying those skinflint jackholes for a license, not on his ass, thanks much. 

He paid for both, picked up his change from where Mitch tossed it unhelpfully on the counter and went outside, fumbling out his smokes on the way. 

Stretch sat down on the crumbling curb, drinking his coffee and smoking, letting the caffeine and nicotine wash over him in a twin, soothing rush. He’d been trying to cut down with his funds being on the uncertain side, cigarettes were a pricy vice, and he couldn’t bum any from Red the way he did the beers. 

The sun was still high overhead pouring down the heat, coming up off the pavement in shimmery waves. Sweat was rising up on his bones, his t-shirt clinging damply to his ribs and spine. Somewhere nearby, he could hear children playing, the hollow thud of a basketball and their laughter carrying on in the still air. He didn’t have anywhere he needed to be, no one’s expectations to live up to.

When his cigarette was done and pinched out, Stretch climbed back to his feet and headed for the grocery to drop off the beers before they got warm. Again, he went easy on the door, keeping the bell to a faint rattle rather than a clang. It was only when he turned around that he saw the front counter was empty, Red’s book bent open on the counter but no skeleton around to pick it back up. 

He set the beers on the counter, calling, “red?”

No reply and that was strangely ominous in a little store where even a short skeleton would be hard pressed to hide. 

There was a long hallway in the back that led past a couple storerooms to the apartment Red lived in. He gave the storerooms a glance, just in case Red had a sudden urge to restock the sanitary napkin display, and wasn’t very surprised to find them unoccupied. He saw the door to Red’s apartment was open a crack like it never was and that cranked ominous up to sinister. The lingering sweat on his bones was chilling in the air conditioning, but that wasn’t the only reason a sudden shiver rattled him. 

“red?” Stretch called weakly as he pushed open the door. 

The living room was small with a ratty plaid sofa and a coffee table littered with beer cans and balled up chip bags, and standing in the center of it was a person who was not Red, not unless he got one hell of a growth spurt while Stretch was gone.

Once, Stretch would’ve just taken a shortcut out, right the hell to the Sheriff station down the road and never had he missed the skill more than when the guy-who-was-definitely-not-Red started to turn around. The instinct to teleport was still there even if the ability wasn’t, fizzling out with an aching pain right in the middle of his chest. 

It was only a minor distraction and Stretch blundered over to grab a lamp from a side table, yanking the cord right out of the wall as he brandished it over his head like a club, yelling shrilly, “what the fuck are you doing in here?”

The guy turned around, looking back at him with deep crimson eye lights that flicked briefly up to the lamp before meeting his wild gaze. His voice was as smooth and dark as deep water as he stated coolly, “I believe that’s my question.”

Stretch stared and the only coherent thought amongst the many tangled ones scrambling through his mind was only two words. Simple. Descriptive. 

_Oh, shit._

* * *

-tbc-


	3. Criminally Inclined

* * *

The thing was, Stretch had never really lived on his own. For most of his life, he’d lived with his brother. Taking care of Blue when he was a kiddo, then sort of swapping roles for a while as they got older. By the time they were on the surface, they had a pretty good give and take going when it came to cohabitation. Living with his bro was never the problem. 

It was moving back in with him after everything went down that was the hard part. His sympathy felt more like stifling pity, the relentless cheer Stretch normally adored was grating, and as much as Stretch loved his brother, (and he did, his brother was the coolest and fuck anyone who didn’t see that), he just…he couldn’t. Not right now. 

That all came to a head and landed him on the midnight bus to anywhere and living here essentially alone was turning into a balancing act between being necessarily solitary and lonely enough to start befriending the local spooks, and now look at him.

Standing in Red’s living room and armed with a lamp shaped like a flamingo, probably about to be murdered for the hundred bucks in the front register and Red’s shitty microwave, and his first stupid thought was, _holy shit, he’s gorgeous._

Not that it wasn’t a valid thought, but it didn’t do much to better the situation. A skeleton Monster (another one? really?) that was almost as tall as he was, but instead of Stretch’s scrawny bod and knobby knees poking out of his cargo shorts, this guy looked like he’d just stepped out of GQ’s leather edition, available only with a valid ID. From those slender hips with all the right curves all the way up to the delicate intricacies of his cervical vertebra, he was like a book written in braille, begging for a touch. Those cheekbones alone were sharp enough to do more damage than any damn lamp, fuck, he should have to carry a weapons license for those things, they were sure as hell giving Stretch a good stab in the libido. 

Mystery guy only stood there in Red's living room, cool and calm in spite of the fact he was wearing a sleek leather jacket and knee-high damn motorcycle boots, (fuck, those _legs_ ), on a sweltering day. Didn’t even bother to pull his hands out of his jeans pockets, like he was hanging around patiently for a fucking takeout order instead of starring in a home invasion.

The guy raised a browbone, and fuck, how did even the scar running through his socket seem sexy? “Well?” Mystery Man said, “Nothing else to say?”

That broke the spell. Well, kinda, holy shit, take two. That voice, it was almost rich enough to pour into a cup, but damn, if Sugar Tongue here dusted Red, what was Stretch gonna tell the cops? That he was too busy getting seduced by those dark molasses wiles to do anything about it? 

Stretch brandished the lamp again and blustered out, “i asked you first!”

The guy sighed heavily and for half an idiot second, Stretch felt bad for disappointing him. “If we’re going to continue down this path of childish competition, then I was here first. Would you care to offer a rebuttal? Or is that word too complicated for you, I’d make an attempt to bring it down to your level, but I don’t have the time to journey back out of the realm of stupidity today.”

That was enough to snap him out of this guy’s erotic stupidity spell. Great, he was a murderer and a dick, Stretch should’ve known. No one with hips like that could be on the side of good. He raised the lamp again threateningly, flamingo-beak facing front, “the only _butt_ around here is gonna be yours when i kick it!”

The guy only rolled his eye lights, deep crimson, huh, how about that. “Ah, how refreshing it is to have a chance to engage in such cunning debate,” he drawled. “But as enchanting as this has been, let me interrupt the vigilante plotline you seem to be starting. I’m only here to drop off a package for my brother.”

“brother?” Stretch parroted dumbly. Oh. Ohhhhh, for fuck’s sake he was an _idiot_. Red eye lights, skeleton monster, all he was missing was a fucking name tag that said, ‘Red’s Tall Brother, Please Do Not Ambush.’ 

Well, that was one way to make a first impression. 

Stretch sheepishly lowered the lamp, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. “oh. uh, sorry about that, i’m a little on edge.”

“On edge, are you,” the guy repeated. One corner of his mouth pulled upward in a sardonic little smile, another sign of the unfairness of life that it only made him look even more appealing, if that were possible. Sex on legs _and_ that voice? Some guys cheated to role for charisma twice was all Stretch was saying. “Ah, aren’t life’s little ironies precious.”

Before Stretch could figure out what the heck that meant, he heard the familiar thump and bump of Red hurrying down the hallway. The door was flung open hard enough to bounce against the opposite wall and Red paused in the doorway, taking in the scene. His brother standing there in all his sexy glory, completely unconcerned and weaponless, and Stretch still sweaty and disheveled from trekking through the heat outside, standing there with a lamp in his hands trying to look like he hadn’t been ready to bonk the guy on the noggin like the first chapter of an Agatha Christie novel.

Red was snickering before Stretch could even scramble for any sort of excuse, “whatcha gonna do with the lamp, armstrong, knock his lights out?”

“i was improvising,” Stretch mumbled. He plunked the hideous thing back on the table, fumbling to plug it back in. "you didn't tell me you had a brother."

"no?” Red set both hands on the top of his cane to lean against it and innocent was not a voice he wore well, nope. “musta slipped my mind."

"Your mind is ever slippery, brother," said brother put forth in a clipped tone, "Somehow, you managed to forget to mention this…person…to me as well."

"and 'cause i did you got to have an excitin' first meeting,” Red said, abandoning innocence for pure mischief. He gave them both a broad wink, “ain't that right?"

About the only thing Stretch and this guy had in common was the mutual dirty looks they gave back to that.

“only if you get your thrills from a criminal sort of meet and greet,” Stretch said.

"Yes," the brother said irritably, "Very exciting. And now that we’ve all confirmed who I am, would you care to explain who this is?”

Red’s grin widened, his gold tooth winking in the mellow sunlight streaming in through the tatty curtains. “my new clerk.”

“Your—” That irritation melted into horror as the guy’s spine went ruler-straight as if someone jammed a yardstick up his ass before he blustered out, “have you lost your tiny little mind?” 

Stretch couldn’t help feeling a little insulted. It was a little grocery store, not the Ritz, they didn’t need all their cheese on the crackers to manage selling ‘em, thanks.

Red didn’t seem bothered by his brother’s disbelief, he only shrugged, “nah. don’t think so, anyway.” Then with a touch of acid, “not like you’re around long enough to find out.”

His brother ignored that. Seemed like he was still stuck on Red’s audacity in hiring a clerk. “You have,” he said wonderingly, “You’ve completely lost your mind this time. And you’re keeping him right here in the house?”

“room upstairs, but yeah.” Red sucked on his teeth loudly, grinning his wide, feral grin. “got a problem with that, little brother?”

Conversation briefly ceased as they both seemed to be trying to communicate in glares and Stretch didn’t know enough of the language to interpret, but he didn’t think it was going well. Especially not when the tall drink of brother abruptly turned to him and said, “Go get your things.”

Stretch only gaped at him, too surprised to even protest, of all the fucking arrogance—!

“Go get your things,” he repeated, a touch louder and flavored with a dash of impatience, “and I’ll take you to the bus depot right now.”

“you’re serious,” Stretch said in disbelief. He shook his head with a short laugh, “heh, sorry, champ, not going anywhere on your say-so. besides, i just got here, if i leave now, I’ll never get voted prom queen.”

The other guy’s face didn’t so much as twitch and the intensity in that crimson gaze made Stretch want to look away. He resisted, meeting that glare defiantly, even as he said, quietly, “If you stay long enough, leaving won’t be an option.”

Stretch only snorted, seriously, what was with this guy? “and you’re calling your brother a nut?”

He didn’t bother to answer that one, only swung around and pointed an accusing finger in Red’s direction. “This is on you, brother.”

Red only gave him that easy, sharky grin back. “always was.”

Stretch thought that was the end of it. The guy nodded shortly and started towards the door, brushing past Stretch to get to it and that was where he paused. He turned towards Stretch, those red eye lights moving over him searchingly. The end table with its returned lamp was at Stretch’s back, there was nowhere to go as Red’s brother loomed into his personal space, leaning in uncomfortably close, only inches away from Stretch’s collarbone as he sniffed delicately. 

“Hm,” he said thoughtfully.

Stretch resisted the urge to give his armpits a testing sniff. “what?”

But he only drew away and gave Red another unreadable look. Red nodded once. 

What. The. Fuck?

“Fine,” the guy sighed out. His hands curled into brief fists, sharpened fingertips pressed into his palms. “It’s your problem, brother, you deal with it.”

“don’t i always?”

“Perhaps with the least amount of property damage possible, if you don’t mind.” He gave Stretch another dismissive half-glance. “Now if you’ll excuse me, brother."

He turned and started to walk off and yeesh, even the way he walked caught the eye, damn, hate to see you leave, love to watch those hips go. 

Down boy, Stretch told his libido. There was enough weird shit going on and he really didn’t need to take another hike down that path. Besides, with hot stuff constantly looking at him like something to be scraped off the bottom of his shoe, it wasn’t exactly opening the door for romance. He’d had his fill of assholes, a lifetime’s worth, and just in case it might be in question, Stretch proved he was still an enormous idiot by calling to that leather-clad back, “didn’t catch your name.”

The guy didn’t even pause. “Then next time you should be a better hunter.”

With that he was out the apartment door. Stretch and Red stood there and listened to the cow bell jangling loudly, the door slamming, and then the roar of an engine speeding away. 

Only then did Red speak again, with laconic ease, “if you’re done staring at my baby bro’s ass, y’can come eat with me.”

“i—" wasn’t, Stretch started to say, then shrugged. Busted. “don’t worry, i don’t think i’m his type.”

“don’t think too hard, gonna hurt yourself,” Red said, dry as a mouthful of sand. “what’s the problem, don’t think you got the right size font?”

“let’s not get into that, it’ll take too long,” Stretch tossed back. “and don’t take this the wrong way but your brother is a dick.”

“yeah,” Red said fondly, “ain’t he great? now, before you tried to light up my bro’s life, i was setting up for dinner. if you grab that bag, you can have some, too.”

Stretch followed where Red pointed with his cane to find an insulated bag sitting by the sofa, black because fuck knew Fonzie’s stunt double needed matching accessories. He lugged the bag along as he followed Red back down the hallway into the store, setting it on the counter while Red struggled into the chair. There were a couple of dusty bowls already sitting there next to the beers and Red gave them a cursory wipe with a rag of dubious cleanliness. 

“my bro got his own place a while back,” Red unzipped the bag and pulled out a large ceramic casserole dish. “but he still drops off food for me coupla times a week. says that eating at ‘mama’s’ along with a double daily dose of mac and cheese ain’t healthy.”

Stretch watched, reluctantly intrigued. “he doesn’t stick around for dinner?”

“nah, my bro has kinda a special diet.” Red pulled the lid off and steam rose out, along with the gorgeous, rich smell of sinfully delicious food. Long greenish noodles drenched in some sort of glistening sauce with chunks of more green and purple veggies mixed in, and dusted with a heavy sprinkle of parmesan. Whatever it was, it wasn’t anything like what they brought to the table at Olive Garden.

Stretch inhaled deeply, his mouth already watering. “holy shit, he cooked this?”

“cooked it, hell,” Red spooned out portions, uncaring about the little drips that fell on the counter and pushing the first bowl over to Stretch. “he makes the pasta by hand. planted the veggies, too, like he’s fucking ol’ macdonald on his farm. he made that stew i gave ya the first night, too.”

Stretch barely heard him because he’d already taken his first bite and had he really thought Red’s brother looked sexy? He was wrong, totally wrong, because this was the sexy, this delectably orgasmic taste exploding across his tongue in a blend of garlic and vinaigrette, carried on perfectly al dente noodles mingling with the bright crunch of zucchini and beets. It was hard not to moan aloud as he chewed down that first bite and went back for another.

“is he single? i changed my mind, holy fuck, i’m gonna marry him and chain him to the stove,” Thoughtlessly said around a mouthful of deliciousness and Stretch winced as he realized what he said, “sorry, sorry, bad joke.”

Red only slurped up more noodles, teeth glistening with oil and the long strands flinging droplets of sauce as he sucked them in. “he’s single, but good luck putting a leash on him. go ahead, ask him out next time he stops by. i could use a good laugh, ‘cause, honey, you two hooking up would be a joke.”

Absurdly stung, Stretch shrugged and tried on a laugh, “hey, i’m a hell of a catch. gainfully employed and everything.”

“oh, yeah, you’re the seafood special, all right.” Red’s sharp teeth sheared easily through the noodles as he took another bite. “rebound fucks never work out, kid.”

“how did you—" Stretch stopped with a groan as Red raised both brow bones mockingly. He slumped back over his bowl, twirling up noodles on his fork. “yeah, yeah, handed that over with gift wrap.”

“yep, you did.” Red clapped Stretch on the shoulder with enough force to make him drop his fork. “the list of reasons people end up in the middle of nowhereville is pretty fucking short, kid, an’ you got that look. don’t worry ‘bout it, you got a place to stay here as long as you want.”

The unexpected kindness from Red of all people made him blink hard, but then, that wasn’t really giving him a fair shake, was it, not when he’d given Stretch a job to begin with and kept him semi-fed. “thanks.”

“don’t mention it, to anyone.” Red said dryly. He sucked down the last of the noodles and pushed the bowl away with a sigh. “gonna ruin my rep. make you a deal, air conditioning’s better down here. if you wanna watch tv in my place, y’can go ahead, if,” he stressed, “if ya call your brother. bet he’s out of his mind worried by now.”

“how—” Stretch shut his mouth hard enough for his teeth to click together. Red only looked serenely back, the chair creaking as he leaned back and laced his hands together over his middle. He looked away, not wanting to see what else might shine knowingly in those crimson eye lights. “i’ll text him.”

“good enough,” Red said agreeably. He pulled a can of beer off the plastic ring and popped it open, gulping some down and belching with mellow contentment. “where the fuck did you go earlier, i been waiting on these beers.”

Stretch’s bowl was empty and he ran a finger along the inside of it, licking away the smear of leftover sauce. “to see a movie.”

Red’s mouth opened in a silent ‘ah’. “didja say hi to doris?”

That was not what Stretch expected. “i…yes. you’ve seen her?” Stupid to think Red hadn’t, he’d been here for a long time, hard to believe he’d never stepped into the theater and any Monster with half a gram of sense would’ve noticed her.

“sure, loads of times,” Red said, confirming it. “sweet gal. don’t be offended if she don’t remember you right away, she’s gotta little problem with short term memory.” He pointed a finger at his temple and let his thumb drop like the hammer on a gun. “keep stoppin’ in and eventually you’ll stick. takes her a mo’ when i stop by, but she gets there.”

“good to know.” And it was. Any faint, stupid hurt that he wasn’t the first Monster in Doris’s unlife was a little eased by that tidbit. He probably would’ve been more upset if he went to see her again tomorrow and had to go through the intros again without it. 

“okay, g’wan, get outta here,” Red shoved a beer in Stretch’s direction and waved him off. “just remember, wheel of fortune is on at 7.”

Stretch took the dirty bowls with him along with the serving dish, giving them a quick wash and setting them into Red’s already overflowing dish drainer. He spent the rest of the afternoon on the saggy sofa in the living room, watching reruns of ‘MASH’ and ‘Little House On the Prairie’ until Red closed shop for the Wheel. 

That night Stretch had a strange dream. Vast trees towering over him and unstable ground beneath his feet. He stood in a puddle of ragged moonlight and when red eyes loomed out of the darkness, he met their stare and didn’t run. Not even when he saw the huge, dark shape that contained them, jagged white teeth in a gaping maw that gnashed and slavered, ready to consume him. The shape leapt at him and he couldn’t move, trapped by that gaze. He woke with a gasp before it landed, waking with a scream tangled up on his throat, clammy sheets sticking to his sweaty bones. 

He lay for a moment on the thin mattress, catching his breath. His window was covered, had been since his second night here and he’d found an old blanket in his closet, tacked it up to keep out the blistering heat of the noontime sun. Now it kept out the midnight darkness and he didn’t even glance at it as he rolled to his feet and headed into the bathroom to splash cold water on his sweaty face. 

He set both damp hands on the sides of the sink and looked at his dripping reflection. The only shadows in this room were the ones beneath his sockets. His skull was pale, his eye lights pinpricks of diffused white. 

“liar,” he whispered to his reflection and watched as it whispered it silently back. 

But that was one shipment of guilt he could offload right now. 

Stretch shuffled back out and scooped his phone off the nightstand. He ignored the messages, the voicemails, and only tapped out a message of his own, hitting send before he could think of an excuse not to. 

_i’m okay, little brother, i’m safe. i’ll call soon._

It wasn’t a lie. Soon was relative, just like brothers.

He sank back down on his damp sheets and didn’t bother to turn out the lights.

* * *

tbc


	4. Joint Venture

* * *

The rest of Stretch’s week went about the same way as the first few days. Work in the morning, movie in the afternoon, dinner with Red at night. After what Red told him, he’d been prepared to Groundhog’s Day his way through his next visit with Doris if needs be, braced for a few reminders until he made a good enough impression.

For their second meeting, he got another popcorn just for her, tucking it into the cupholder on the opposite side of her seat. She was barely formed before she was leaning down to breathe in the buttery smell of it and from that angle, he didn’t have to witness any of her less appetizing manifestations. He also brought strawberry-flavored twizzlers, bought from the store and smuggled in under his shirt since the only candy at the concession stand was raisinets and those tasted like chocolate-covered dirt, no thanks.

He wasn’t too worried about going over his entertainment budget. Red paid him yesterday and they hadn’t discussed an hourly rate, but a hundred bucks under the table wasn’t bad for a few hours work a day, especially since Red had recently taken more of an interest in feeding him. Seemed he’d taken his brother’s order to look after Stretch pretty seriously and he started leaving packets of donuts on the counter in the morning or little boxes of sugary dry cereal to munch between customers. In the evening, Red dragged him back to his apartment at night for more Wheel of Fortune and food, either deliciously left by his unseen brother or frozen dinners. 

It made Stretch feel even more like a scrawny lost puppy found in a parking lot, but he couldn’t say Red’s sudden adoption was unwelcome, especially since it meant less of his dwindling funds were wasted at ‘Mama’s’ getting takeout. Not that he couldn’t access his bank account, even Backwater had an ATM at the gas station, but the second he popped that plastic into the slot, he’d be advertising where he was. Better to save that as his last measly dollar, ‘hail Mary’ pass. 

After indulging in her popcorn vice, Doris sat back up to her normal prim posture and there was a certain restrained excitement in her voice as she said, “You came back.”

“’course i did,” Stretch said from around his current twizzler even as he nursed a secret delight at being remembered. “i said i would, didn’t i?” He wondered what other friends she’d made and possibly forgotten, aside from Red. Maybe she thought she’d been alone all this time when she actually had others who came to see her on the weekends? 

Whatever the truth was, there wasn’t much point in asking. Not like she’d know the truth, anyway, and Stretch wasn’t planning on ghosting her. Her smile was Mona Lisa subtle and probably held as many unspoken secrets, and that was fine. Stretch wasn’t a guy to pry. They sat together through ‘The Road to Morocco’ and he didn’t even mind when Doris hummed softly through all the songs. 

On the third day since their haunting introduction, she appeared before the movie started while he was playing ‘Candy Crush’ on his phone and pointedly ignoring the messages piling up. She looked fascinated, watching the flickering lights from the game. “What is that contraption, Stretch?”

Hey, points for being remembered again, but then, he’d been here every day so far. He wondered idly how it would go if he took a day or two off. 

Stretch held his phone out to let her get a better look. “you ever have a telephone in your house?”

“Of course,” she said, but her eyes, both pale blue and ghostly pale at the same time, were on the android, “My parents were on the exchange. Mama used to call Central all the time so she could chat with the ladies in her church group.”

Stretch wasn’t quite sure what that all meant, but the movie was starting soon so there wasn’t time to ask. “well, this little gadget is a kind of a phone and a camera, plus a few other things on top.” 

Probably better not to bring up the deal with the internet just yet. 

Her eyes went wide and round, without an ounce of disbelief. “You can take photographs with that?”

“yeah, sure. here.” He turned it on selfie mode and tipped his head her way, waiting until he was sure to catch her good side before pushing the button. One click later and there was his grin and her translucent open-mouthed astonishment, frozen in time. He held out the phone so she could get a good look. “see? i can get it printed later, but for now, we can see how it looks.”

“That’s wonderous,” she whispered in hushed awe. “You don’t even have to wait to develop it!”

“yeah, it is pretty cool.” It was, honestly. He didn’t really think about it too often but carrying around a little supercomputer that also took pictures was actually pretty wonderous. He remembered getting his first phone when they came to the surface, a huge upgrade from the taped-up flip phone he’d scavenged from the dump. Playing with all the apps, taking tons of pictures of him and Blue. He’d forgotten that wonder when it all became commonplace and it was nice to have a reminder. 

Doris reached out as if to touch, but her finger passed through the screen. Her hand fell away and she didn’t look happy anymore, more pensive, her delight fading as some other thought filtered in and forced it to sink.

He wondered if the culture shock was kicking in. He asked, low, “you okay?”

“Yes, of course.” She pulled out a hankie and dabbed at her eyes. “I simply haven’t seen myself in, oh, a very long time, I think.”

Shit, he hadn’t thought of that. She probably hadn’t made too many trips to the ladies’ room in the past few decades and now he was double-glad he hadn’t accidently caught one of her bloody ‘flickers’, she didn’t need to see that. “i’m sorry.”

“Please, don’t be sorry,” she assured him, “I’m happy to have seen it.” She smiled then, pretty as a picture, “you’re a good friend.”

“trying to be.” For as long as he could, anyway. The lights started to dim and Stretch tucked his phone away. They both settled into their seats to watch ‘Casablanca’, him munching on his popcorn, her giving hers the occasional sniff, and both of them ended up sniffling as Sam played ‘As Time Goes By’, Stretch into his sleeve and Doris into her lace-edged hankie. 

He didn’t know what past lover Doris was thinking about, but he hoped it was a nice memory and not one that helped her on her brutal path over to the other side. His own memories were more bitter than sweet, and he replaced both with more butter-soaked popcorn. At least that was a taste he could stand.

* * *

The store opened late on Sundays and closed early, only staying open long enough for anyone who needed a quick pick up or a treat for their kiddos after church. Stretch didn’t have the slightest interest in religion, not even his own, but he listened for the deep clang of the church bells gonging through the town announcing the mass exodus, and rang up all the Humans that came in dressed in their Sunday best. 

At least none of them seemed to hold his lacking against him. Their smiles as they paid for the ice cream treats that their kids were already devouring were the same as they’d been all week and the only raised voice in the shop was a mother admonishing her son to ‘Be careful of that nice shirt, Billy, don’t you be getting chocolate down your front!’

By the time he hung up the closed sign at three on the dot, there hadn’t been a customer in nearly an hour anyway. Probably everyone was holing up at home for an early supper out of the scorching heat. He swept the floor, locked the door, and that was done. He wandered back to Red’s apartment in hopes of a little early supper of his own, knocking briefly before stepping inside, “red?”

“out here,” floated back to him. The door that led to the backyard was open, only the screen keeping the humming insects at bay. Stretch went out on the porch where Red was sitting in one of the rickety rocking chairs he kept back there. His leg was propped up on a scruffy cushion atop a low stool, the pantleg oddly deflated and his shoe lying beneath the rocker. Next to him was a small cooler with beers floating in a shallow pool of water and the remnants of ice cubes. Dangling from his loose fingertips was a smoldering joint, faint wisps of pale smoke trailing from his darkened eye sockets.

Stretch went out, letting the screen door bang shut behind him. There was a sofa on the back porch even more ancient than the one in the living room and it puffed up a cloud of dust when Stretch flopped down on it. “you’re letting out all the cold air,” Stretch said.

Red snorted loudly, “you ain’t paying for it.”

“that is true,” he agreed. “i don’t pay for a lot around here, ‘cause you are a generous soul. speaking of,” he waved a vague hand at the joint that was nearly falling out of Red’s fingers, “gonna share that, too?”

Red didn’t even look in his direction, only blindly handed over the roll. The first hit was skunky-sharp, the smoke burning in his ribcage in a way that plain tobacco just didn’t, and Stretch was careful only to take a small toke to start. Red was the kind of asshole who either got cheap shit to match his cheap beer or he’d get the sort of weed that would have Stretch afraid to get up from the sofa because he might fall off the world. Better to start slow and figure it out from there. 

Turned out to be somewhere in the middle and left him in a perfectly mellow buzz, all his stressors suddenly distant and unimportant. Stretch lived up to his name by sprawling out as far as he could on the moldering sofa, his sneakers dangling off the arm as he and Red passed the joint back and forth.

“ain’t bad, yeah?” Red said lazily. He took another toke, breathing out words and smoke, “ain’t legal here, yet, but the sheriff is one of my poker buddies.”

Stretch twisted to look at him, “seriously?”

“nope, but his kid is the one selling, so i figure he don’t mind.”

Stretch wasn’t sure if any part of that sentence was true and couldn’t be bothered to care. Blurry reality was so much better than having it sharp and in focus. The haze dug in deep beneath the surface, settling right in and making itself at home. That was probably the only reason Stretch asked, bravely thoughtless, “so, why did your brother want me to leave town?”

“ehhhhhh," Red drew the sound out like it was a word of its own, his chair creaking on the dry wood of the porch as he rocked back, "he's jus' paranoid. folks that ain't used to backwater can get into trouble here sometimes."

“yeah, i can see how a town with only one bar can be loaded with problems,” Stretch snorted, “the locals aren’t as generous with their beer as you?” 

“you’d be surprised at the kinda trouble you can find in a small town.” That sounded a little more bitter than expected and Stretch glanced at Red to see what kind of lemon he was biting down on. But Red wasn’t chewing on anything; instead, he was tugging at his pant leg, clumsily rolling the denim up. Stretch started to look away, didn’t want to make his landlord and new weed dealer uncomfortable but Red only let out that rough, scoffing laugh of his. “may as well look if you’re gonna be askin’ about the real shit.”

So he did, taking in the rounded nub of bone leftover from an obviously surgical amputation, the leg missing from right below the knee joint. Red only slumped back in the chair as Stretch studied it, giving every appearance of not caring. Unless, you know, a person wasn’t a complete moron and Stretch was at least one rung up. He could see the overbrightness in Red’s eye lights, the tight grit of his teeth, his jaw working even when Stretch fell back on the sofa. 

Stretch asked with carefully affected boredom, “you’re telling me i’m gonna lose a limb if i keep hanging around? ‘cause when you offered to let me stay, i didn’t know the rent might be a literal arm and leg.”

A beat of silence, then Red chuckled roughly. The ice in the cooler rattled as Red reached in and grabbed a beer, loudly popping the tab and raising the can in a mocking toast, “heh, you got inches to spare, anyway.”

“only below the belt,” Stretch said, agreeably. “so what did he mean, then, that leaving isn’t an option?” 

“eh, he didn’t really mean that.”

“he said it. leaving won’t be an option, that was what he said.” Stretch was a hundred percent on that, it was the sort of thing a person remembered very clearly, no matter how stoned. 

Red only shrugged, rolling his shoulders with lazy ease, "toldja, he’s paranoid, is all. small town life ain’t bad, once you get used to it. folks settle in and don't want to leave. s'nice here, people are nice.” His sharp-toothed grin widened. “'m here, ain't i?"

“can’t argue with that." Stretch reached out and managed to catch hold of the cooler with the tips of his fingers. He tugged it close enough to fish out one of the beers. "does your brother live in town?"

"i ain't telling you where he lives,” Red said decisively, “ain't risking my meal ticket for your illusions of possible booty call."

Stretch choked on a mouthful of beer, thin streams running out of the sides of his mouth as he coughed, “i wasn't…" He broke off, stoned-stupid and too aghast to come up with a decent protest past the obvious. "that's your brother!"

"yep,” Red agreed, “all that means ‘s i am immune to his charms. don't mean i can't see 'em and you was staring at his ass like you wanted to take it for a lil’ test drive. telling ya right now, that ain’t a good idea.”

Stretch slumped down further on the sofa, sulkily muttering out, “the quality of your brother’s ass notwithstanding, i promise you, i am not on the lookout for any kind of call, booty or otherwise.”

“good,” Red grunted, “while we’re having this little soul to soul, you wanna tell me exactly what you’re running away from that got you all the way out to this neck of the proverbial woods? i can guess at the basics, but the finer details elude me.”

"digging out the best vocab for me, i’m honored.” Stretch rested his half-full can on his chest, played with the tab until it broke off then toying with the bit of aluminum. “not really. i broke up with someone and it sucked. i don't want to talk about it." He slanted his boss/landlord a look, "that a problem?"

"nope," Red took another swig from his beer, wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "man's business is his own, even when he ain't a man. already toldja, stay as long as you like." His easy voice went serious, weirdly intent, "one thing, though, them woods out there, you see ‘em?"

Stretch managed to lean up on an elbow, squinting out at the trees that were far enough away that the house regrettably didn’t fall under any cooling shadows. "yeah, it's kinda peaceful, i guess. if you like that kinda thing." Stretch didn’t, not really, the only greenery he was interested in was rolled up in Red’s joint.

"peaceful. sure. that's all fine and dandy, but don't you go walking out there at night, you hear me?"

It wasn’t easy, but Stretch managed to sit up, working at his wobbly balance to give Red the full weight of his disbelief, “uh. why the fuck would i?” 

“didn't say you would,” Red said, a touch defensively, “just sayin’ don’t."

“no, seriously, why would i? do i look like the token monster extra in a horror movie?” Stretch let out an exaggerated shudder, “no thanks, no, no, no. no splitting up, no checking the funny sound in the basement, none of that shit. why, what happens if you go into the woods at night? ‘cause i’m cool with the town ghosts but i’d need a better door lock and a pay raise if you guys got vampires hanging around.”

Red gave him a strange look, his sockets narrowing around his bleary eye lights, "what the…no, you honey roasted nutbar! woods are bigger’n they look, i don't wanna have to dig up a search party to find your scrawny ass if ya get lost, is all!”

"seriously, me wandering in the woods at any time of day is the last thing you need to worry about.” Stretch wondered absently if that was actually a problem around here, people hying off into the woods at midnight, yeesh, might as well wear a ‘free snack’ sign while they were at it and speed up the process. 

"great, i'll add it to the bottom of the list. vampires,” Red muttered in disgust, “fuck me.” Then louder, “mind me on this one, you hear? i ain’t your daddy, but i’m taking a liking to you, kid, want ya to hang around in the land of the livin’ a while.”

That struck Stretch as absurdly funny. He started giggling and couldn’t stop, curling up on the sofa as he cooed, “aww, c’mon, daddy, you don’t wanna roleplay? if i do go in the woods, do i get a spanking?” 

He ducked from the can Red threw at him halfheartedly, beer spraying out and splattering the porch, drying almost instantly on the parched wood. Stretch rescued it before it could soak the sofa, tipping the can back and drinking down the last warm mouthful. 

“shut the fuck up and hand me that roach,” Red grumbled. He did, and they sat that way for the rest of the afternoon. 

The sun was going down by the time they went inside, casting a bloodred glow over the horizon that extended across the not-so-distant trees. Stretch gave them a last look as he waited for Red to strap his prosthetic back on and head inside, maybe for canned ravioli, maybe for one of his brother’s much tastier meals. The leaves were visibly rustling despite the still air, heavy branches waving and creaking. Whatever breath of cool air that ran through the woods didn’t make its way into town. 

Stretch shrugged mentally and followed Red as he limped his way through the back door. Air conditioning was better than a breeze any day of the week, including Sunday.

* * *

tbc


	5. Clutching At Straws

* * *

By the time Red took over at the store for Stretch every day, the sun was at its peak, pouring down waves of heat to bake into the asphalt and the hardpacked ground. It made the whole town look like a sepia-tinted photograph with the old storefronts and their peeling paint, the dust kicking up with every step a person took in little clouds around their feet. 

About the only thing that was truly green around was the cornfields, the sudden burst of color so sharp after looking at the monochrome town it almost ached. In a bizarre way, it reminded Stretch of Snowdin, of days spent in nothing but blinding whiteness only broken by the desperate cheer of Gyftmas lights. 

A flip-flop from cold to heat was all, and neither temperature was preferable to him. Stretch dealt with the hot the same way he had the chill; by trying to stay out of it.

Still, a guy did need a little fresh air now and again, and after hitting up the movie theater, he’d started taking walks down the main road into town in the late afternoon before wandering back to the store for dinner. The road wasn’t a busy one, mostly pickup trucks and family vans, with the occasional bus coming through the same way as the one that brought him. Taking a pitstop for gas and grub then off again, only none of those riders decided to hop off and stay awhile. Not yet, anyway.

There was no sidewalk, only a narrow line of dirt running down the outside of the crumbling asphalt between it and the yellowed grass, and that was where he walked. Not any faster than a casual stroll, he wasn’t training for a marathon here. Sometimes he smoked and sometimes he didn’t, tucked his hands into his pockets and walking in the liminal space between the road and the corn, waving at anyone who waved to him. Most of the cars and trucks did, small-town friendly as they went to the store or the bar or to ‘Mamas’. 

Stretch wasn’t a farming sort of guy, he didn’t know thing one about no plants, much less the huge fields surrounding the town. On his list of new things he was learning was that corn was really loud. Like, really. The slightest breeze sent a cascading wave of rustling next to him and he listened to that rather than any music, absently wishing that any cooling puff of air would make it over to the road just once to bless his sweating face. 

Kids were usually out about the same time, either taking advantage of sunny days before school started again or maybe kicked out by the parents they’d been driving nuts the rest of the day. They tooled around on bicycles and dragged along old, rusty red wagons inherited from older siblings with ‘Radio Flyer’ still barely legible along the sides. Those wagons often turned into mobile lemonade stands and Stretch had already been suckered out of a few quarters for a cup or two. He knew now that the little twins with their hair up in fuzzy little ponytails were his go-to providers for a nice, cooling drink that was just tart enough to perk up your mouth and to avoid the kid with the gap-tooth smile and his little brother unless he only wanted to make a donation to their new bike fund because those little swindlers sometimes forgot to add sugar. 

No one was selling lemonade today, though. All the kids were gathered together in a large clearing on one side of the road. Long use had worn the shorn, yellowed grass down to the dirt and created a rough baseball diamond, and it looked like every kid in town was playing, from the little kids with a thumb still stuck in their mouth to the older ones patiently showing their little siblings how to hold the bat.

It was cute, really. Baseball wasn’t a thing in Snowdin, not much chance of rounding the bases through a foot of snow, but the Monster kids had gone sledding together and had snowball fights. 

The laughter Stretch remembered from those days sounded exactly the same as that coming from the field and hearing that little commonality felt kinda good. Maybe when more time passed, some of the more bitter Humans back in Ebott would hear it, too. 

Some of the kids waved at him as Stretch walked past and he waved back, recognizing some of the grinning faces and skinned knees as kiddos who’d stopped in at the store to raid the candy shelf. He didn’t get too far down the road when he heard the crack of the bat against the ball, sudden shouts rising, and he turned to see the baseball soaring overhead. Right into the cornfield next to him, landing unseen with a loud ‘thwack!’ into the dirt.

Welp, just as well it hadn’t gone right for him. Even if he’d tried to catch it, hard baseball against a skinless hand made for broken fingers. Plus, there was no way in hell he’d’ve been able to catch it, as if, he stumbled over his own stupid feet sometimes. The only sport Stretch played was competitive napping and at that, he was a pro.

But there was no reason to make one of the kids run all the way over here for the ball. He could probably manage to throw it back. Probably. 

He took a detour off the road towards the field, calling to the kids who were already jogging his way, "i'll get it!"

“Mister, wait!” a tall boy called, legs churning as he ran. 

Another kid was with him, dashing towards him, “Don’t go!”

He didn't pay those calls much mind; he'd heard where the ball landed, he could get it before they even got over here to start the search. Stretch pushed his way through the first row of tall green stalks and stepped into the field.

His shoes sank into the soft, damp soil, huh, weird that it was so wet in here when everywhere else was as dry as, well, dirt. Farmer kept up with the irrigation, for sure. He pushed through the stalks towards where he’d heard the ball hit, eyes on the dark soil, looking for the odd man out of a round white ball and its stark red stitches. 

Long minutes passed as he searched and Stretch was starting to get confused. Stretch wasn’t any kind of marksman or whatever, but he’d heard the ball hit the dirt close by, it should’ve been right around here. He went a little further, careful not to break any stalks as he navigated through them and still, there was nothing but corn. That loud rustling he’d heard from the road was different out here in the field, moving all around him it an endless, whispering tide. 

Okay, fuck this. Being here alone in the cornfield was starting to give him the crawling creeps. He wasn’t really superstitious and he’d only been joking about vampires with Red, but even the sunshine seemed lessened in here, dimmed by the leaves crackling overhead. It was creepy as hell and the corn was higher than he’d first thought, leaves as rough as a cat's tongue wavering high over his head. They seemed to grab onto his shirt, abrading softly against the bare bones of his legs exposed by his shorts. The stalks grew so close together they were holding him back, and how the hell did he get this far in, anyway, he couldn’t even see the road anymore. 

Stretch did an about face, right back towards town. Hell with it, time to get reinforcements and if anyone thought he was a pussy, he’d happily give them a meow.

He headed towards where he could hear the kids shouting for him, struggling through the rows, but he didn’t seem to be get any closer. Which was impossible, okay, he didn't go _that_ far in, he couldn't have, not in only a few minutes. He swore he was going straight, but maybe so many rows of corn distorted the sound. The shouts of the kids kept moving, to the left, to the right. Clods of soft, black dirt clung to his sneakers, dragging him down with each step and his hands felt rubbed raw from pushing through the leaves. 

Town was right over there, had to be, but panic was starting to take hold. Stretch tried to go faster, but it wasn’t like there was anywhere to go, the corn was closed in all around him, that whispering getting louder, echoing inside his skull. Cornsilk clung to his clothes, the tangled strands itching on his bare legs like jellyfish tentacles on dry land. Leaves tried to poke into his sockets, threatening to blind him as he pushed through, wetness from torn shoots slicking his hands in sticky juices. 

He stumbled into a clearing so suddenly he nearly fell, the ground tamped down and dry in a large circle. _Crop circle, aliens,_ his mind whispered, but in the center was a raggedy scarecrow, arms spread wide on its t-shaped post like a crucifixion. Its face was a burlap sack, its jagged grin and dark eyes dabbed on with greasepaint and straw billowing from its sleeves and stuffed pantlegs. 

“what the hell,” Stretch muttered. Looking at that thing sent a shiver of the creeps crawling up his spine and he turned away from it, looked around the clearing as he tried to get his bearings. Now that he was out of the corn, he was calming a little, which was good because if Red had to get a search party together to find him out here in the field right by the damn road, he was never gonna hear the end of it. 

There.

Overtop the tall, rustling stalks, he could just barely see the church steeple. It looked much farther away than it should’ve been. Had he been going in entirely the wrong direction? The echo of the shouts leading him further away from town rather than towards it?

What the fuck ever, he was done with corn, he wasn’t even going to add Fritos to any current snack menus. 

Stretch pulled up the front of his t-shirt, trying to pick strands of cornsilk off fruitlessly. He gave up and instead used the hem to wipe at his damp face while he worked up the motivation to venture back into the corn. He glanced absently back at the scarecrow and all the hot sweat on his bones went abruptly cold, chilling him right down to the marrow. 

The scarecrow was looking at him. 

It wasn’t possible, stupid to even think it, but it was true. The sagging sack of its head was lifted, its chin no longer resting on its non-existent collarbone, it was raised, and those dark, paint-smeary eyes were pointed at him. Staring at him. 

Stretch couldn’t move, standing frozen as his terror warred with his practicality. His soggy sneakers leaked filthy wetness onto the dry dirt as he stared at the scarecrow, who stared back. He watched as a straw-filled glove twitched, seemed to move on its wooden post and that was the wind, his jibbering mind told him, had to be, it was only the wind making it twitch like it was alive, the same way it sent the corn rustling, but his burgeoning fear didn’t give a shit, told his practicality to go fuck itself and ordered him to _run_. 

Stretch turned away and bolted back into the wall of green, fighting his way through the corn stalks as he headed towards the church steeple that he couldn’t see anymore over the towering shoots. Black muck grabbed at his shoes, threatening to yank them off, every step felt like quicksand and he still tried to run. There were no shadows, not even here in the deep green but it felt like one was over him anyway, covering him, coming up from behind. 

Something snarled around his ankle, caught hold and held, and Stretch went sprawling. He fell hard, face-first into the corn and dirt, and even then he didn’t stop. He rolled over, kicking frantically as he tried to free himself, his soul pounding in his chest and throbbing inside his skull, eclipsing the faint sob that escaped him as he saw it. 

The scarecrow, walking towards him on unsteady, boneless legs and reaching out with those filthy, straw-filled gloves. Stretch couldn’t get loose, the corn was tangled around his legs and he was face-to-face with those dark, blank eyes, the rough weave of its sack face looming ever closer. He threw up his own stinging hands, soul aching as his magic sputtered uselessly and even now it refused him, left nothing but a scorched gagging taste on the back of his tongue. 

“Hey, there, you okay?”

It took a long time for the scratchy words to filter through his blistering panic and by then the scarecrow was crouched at his feet, helping to tear away the tangle of leaves around them. 

”i…yes?” Stretch said blankly. He had no idea if it were true. He felt like he still had about a years’ worth of adrenaline running through his mana lines, legs jittery and ready to send him sprinting off again until he hit town. Maybe even the next town over. 

"Nothin' broken?" it…he?...persisted. Carefully, he helped Stretch to his wobbly feet, dusting away the clinging cornsilk and dirt while Stretch tried to convince his unsteady knees to hold him. "Jeezum crow, you sure did take a bad tumble! Why’d ya run off like that, I thought ya might be lost!”

“i am,” Stretch said faintly, “lost. yes. i’m lost.” At that moment in more ways than one, but then, that’d been true before he even stepped off the bus. 

“Yeah, easy to get turned around in the fields,” the scarecrow nodded sagely. His voice was strange, hardly more than a croaky rasp and his mouth didn’t move. The words seemed to drop right out into the air between them. He pushed back his straw hat with a floppy hand and more straw poked out of the sleeve, one piece working its way free to float lazily to the ground. “The corn gets lonely sometimes.”

“the corn,” Stretch repeated weakly.

“It don’t mean no harm, though!" The scarecrow turned away and gave his denim-clad backside a scratch, limp fingers folding against the heavy cloth as he hollered, "Now you all git on back and let him head into town, you hear me?”

The corn rustled unhappily but the stalks seemed to visibly _shift_ , settled back into proper rows and Stretch could see more clearly now, all the way back to town. The children standing outside the cornfield, still waving and yelling in his direction. 

“There ya go!” The jagged, greasepaint grin that had seemed so sinister before now only seemed like a crooked smile. “You go on back to town, now, corn’ll behave for ya.”

“thank you,” Stretch said. It seemed like the thing to say when a strange scarecrow rescued you from lonely corn. He took one unsteady step, another, and the corn didn’t try to stop him, of course it wouldn’t, it was corn, it wasn’t like it could…it wasn’t…

It didn’t take him long to get back to the side of the road this time and as soon as Stretch stepped out of the cornfield the children were on him, a rabble of high-pitched voices all asking him the same thing. 

“You okay, mister?”

“Jeepers, dontcha know not to run into the corn like that!” 

“Good way to miss supper time!” That came in unison from the twins, their dark brown eyes wide and very concerned that he might not have a good meal tonight. 

“You coulda been stuck all day!”

“i’m okay,” Stretch managed. He still wasn’t sure if it was true. He looked down at his clothes, filthy with dirt and strands of cornsilk. He held out his hands, spreading his thin fingers and distantly watched the way they trembled. There was soil ground into his knuckles, grimy and dark. "guess i’m not used to corn.”

"Yeah, out of towners wander in sometimes," one of the taller kids said, with all the world-weary wisdom he'd attained in his decade of life. "Don’t you worry, though, Edgar Allen won't let you get too lost."

"edgar allen?" Stretch repeated blankly. He was starting to feel like a broken record, skipping all over the place and out of tune. 

That earned him another exasperated look, given in unison from all the children. One of the little ones piped up, "The scarecrow, a'course!"

"of course." Of course the scarecrow’s name was Edgar Allen, of course it was, what else made sense? 

Red warned him about the woods, maybe he should've given the corn fields a passing mention, or at least a fucking footnote in his little ‘welcome to town’ chat.

From behind came a sudden rustle of leaves and Stretch jumped, his barely stifled panic roaring back to life as he whirled around. He nearly fell on his ass even as he automatically flung his arms out, trying to keep the kids behind him. 

From out of the tall stalks of corn came a small white blur, headed right for them. It rolled to a stop just shy of his feet, round and ordinary, still smudged with dirt. 

The baseball. 

One of the kids picked it up nonchalantly, not a single one of them alarmed or even a trifle uneasy. Not unless you counted the way they were looking at him. 

Stretch’s legs were tired, but they were all he had to carry him in a slow, shuffling stagger into town. All the kids clustered around him, dusty little birds chirping their concern as they walked along beside him. Worried about him maybe, or curious to see what other stupidity the outsider could manage today and fuck knew that this time if one of them shouted stop, Stretch was going to _stop_ , stop and listen. 

Right now that felt like about all he could manage, his skull felt like it was stuffed with—

(straw)

\--cotton wool. All he wanted a to sit down someplace cool with someone older than the age of ten who might be able to answer the question that was standing out stark in his thoughts: what the fuck was going on in this place?

* * *

tbc


	6. It's All Academic

* * *

The store was still a good block away by the time Stretch’s legs decided they’d had enough of doing all the heavy lifting today and would he mind finding a place for them to park his ass for a while, thank you ever so much. 

His youthful escorts started drifting off right around the time he got into town proper and his sneakers hit sidewalk. Probably outsiders weren’t as interesting without the possibility of imminent disaster and the kiddos started back to their abandoned bikes and hopscotch squares, leaving him to stagger on. 

By then, the wobble that had infected his knees before he even got out of the cornfield was working its way up to a full-out gelatin jiggle and his mouth was filled with the taste of the sweat that ran down his skull, bittersweet salt heavy on his tongue. The sun overhead was bearing down on him, the heat scalding through his t-shirt and shorts right down to his bones. 

He wasn’t gonna make it to the store, Stretch realized with dismay, and flopping down on the sidewalk would be about as comfortable as hopping into a greasy skeleton-sized frying pan. Ending the afternoon charbroiled was somehow even less appealing than going back for a second visit with Edgar Allen and Stretch gave his surroundings a slightly desperate look. 

The library. He hadn’t been inside yet, but it was right there, not ten unsteady steps away. A small ‘open’ card was in the front window and it was sure to have air conditioning, plus a place to sit and tally up what remained of his scattered wits. 

Stretch gathered up the last of his waning endurance and headed for the door. It opened easily, no cowbell here to mark his entrance, and the blissfully cool rush of crisp air against his sweating skull the moment he opened the door confirmed all his hopes and dreams. He managed to close the door behind him and then staggered back a step to lean against the solid wood. Hopefully, no one else was heading in to swap out their latest reads for something new because he needed about five good minutes before he was prepared to even try moving. 

Now that he was out of the heat, his mind was clearing a little and he was able to give the library a good look around. It took a minute longer for his vision to adjust; compared to the bright sunshine, this room was like stepping into a shadow, dim and mysterious the way libraries should be, even ones that weren’t in weird little towns. 

Huh. It was bigger than it looked on the outside, big shocker there, another little surprise of Backwater’s to add to his growing list. Only one room, sure, smelling musky despite the air conditioning, but the bookshelves were tall, towering even over his head and Stretch was on no one’s short end of the scale. The walls were lined with those shelves, and more stood independently, every one of them heavy with all kinds of books.

There were also a couple of small wooden tables and for the first time, Stretch noticed he wasn’t alone. Someone was sitting at one of the tables with his back to the door and unless there was yet another skeleton Monster hanging around town that Red hadn’t bothered to introduce, it had to be his brother. Couldn’t be sure, of course, all Stretch could see was his back, but he was willing to lay down a bet on even odds. 

He’d left off the jacket this time, a wise choice in Stretch’s opinion given the ever-rising thermometer outside. Instead, he was wearing a thin black t-shirt and without the bulk of the leather jacket, his shoulders were narrower, putting him at only a little broader than Stretch’s generally scrawny condition. A crimson scarf was neatly wound around his neck, adding a splash of bright color not only to him, but to the shadowy room. 

His spine was poker stiff, only his neck bent as he perused whatever book was in front of him, and his voice was that same rich chocolate tinged with battery acid from their first meeting as he spoke without turning around.

"Choosing to broaden your horizons with reading instead of wasting all your time at the movies, my, what will my brother…say…" the skeleton trailed off as he turned his head enough to glance at him. His head whipped around to give Stretch the full force of his startled gaze. The chair screeched on the floor as he shoved it back, climbing abruptly to his feet, his sockets narrowing as he looked Stretch over. It was not a sudden outbreak of overwhelming lust in that crimson gaze, more’s the pity, but stark concern as he asked sharply, "Are you all right?"

"yeah?” Stretch said uncertainly, and why was the world so unfair that he sounded like a croaking frog with a developing case of laryngitis in comparison to that roughly silk voice? Worse, he still didn’t actually know if he _was_ okay, might be better not to fully commit to an answer. Considering he was still covered in dirt and cornsilk, and felt like his bones might actually melt into a mess on the floorboards, he probably looked even worse than he sounded. 

Red’s brother didn’t seem to buy it, either. He leaned over to rummage through an open backpack by the table leg, pulling out a bottle of water. Those heavy boots were surprisingly quiet on the wooden floor as he stalked over and thrust the water bottle into Stretch’s hands. He drank it gratefully, the cool water soothing on his parched tongue, only to nearly choke on a drenched yelp as wincingly brisk hands started dusting him off.

The other skeleton plucked free a straggly leaf that was clinging unknowingly to Stretch’s sleeve and held it up like an accusation, stating flatly, "You went in the corn field.”

Wow, this guy managed to fit a whole lot of disapproval into one sentence. He must’ve taken lessons at the same place as Blue. Probably aced the class. 

“yeah,” Stretch admitted. He left off that the kids tried to stop him from going, always better to plead ignorance while you still could. “kinda got lost." 

The other skeleton made a sound that was an honest to bits harrumph. He gave up on Stretch’s clothes, to be honest they hadn’t been in top form before he went into the corn field, and instead, holy shit, started poking at his actual bones.

Already the whole incident seemed more like a bad dream than reality, and now he was falling back into another dream, only this one was of a wet variety. It was really hard (heh) to stay traumatize with a guy this gorgeous unhesitatingly feeling him up. He was probably looking for injuries like a good Samaritan and an outside source needed to firmly (heh heh) tell Stretch’s bones that, because they sure weren’t listening to Stretch on the matter. 

Hands skimmed down his ribs, sharp-tipped fingers cautious as they slid lower, ghosting over his shorts and the femurs beneath them. He crouched down to reach Stretch’s dirty sneakers, gently gliding over the delicate bones of his ankles and leaving behind a heat that was nothing like the sun’s.

Stretch took another long swig of cold water, nearly as desperate as his first but for entirely different reasons, and tried not to think of the skull that was currently level with his fly. Okay, he didn’t exactly want this to stop but he really, really, needed it to. He hoped the guy chalked up the renewed croak in his voice to lingering trauma. "um, thanks, but i’m okay. this scarecrow guy helped me."

“Ah, did Edgar Allen help you back out?” the guy said approvingly. “Good.” 

Stretch tried not to look disappointed as he stood back up, seeming to decide there was no permanent damage from his unexpected ‘field trip’. At this point, any lingering aftereffects weren’t from the corn, and he took a shaky breath, sternly advising everything below the waist that systems were not at go, launch not in progress, abort, abort.

A distraction was in order. 

Okay, so, no one in this town was at all surprised by the sentient scarecrow. Stretch didn’t pretend that he knew everything about the surface world, okay, this was his first time out of Ebott, but he was pretty sure that if this were the worldwide norm, he’d’ve heard about this once or twice; on the news, TMZ, twitter, _something_. 

“edgar allen, right. um…soooooo, what is he?” Stretch asked. 

That got him an impressively scornful look. “He’s a scarecrow.”

Yeah, okay, that was true, but Stretch wasn’t about to pretend that the _scarecrow_ part of Edgar Allen was the debated issue right now. “scarecrows aren’t supposed to move. not on their own, anyway, and they really aren’t supposed to be able to offer opinions on the corn.”

“No?” The other skeleton waved a negligent hand as he turned away, heading to his chair as he tossed over his shoulder, “What should he be able to offer his opinion on, Paris fashions?” He settled into his chair, bending back over his book. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t tell him your personal theories on his condition, he doesn’t need that kind of negativity right now.”

“wha—of course i won’t, why would i…?” For a moment, Stretch felt absurdly guilty for his preconceived notions on scarecrows, then he shook it off because seriously? He went to the table and pulled out another chair, turning it around to straddle the battered seat. The other guy didn’t even look at him, right, right, he was a dick, how quickly a little unintentional petting made Stretch forget.

“is he a monster?” Stretch asked. That would sort of make sense, not that Stretch knew any Monsters who’d willingly sit in a field all day long. Then again, he guessed it depended on the hourly rate and what kind of signal you could get on your phone.

The other skeleton licked the tip of his finger before turning a page and it was seriously embarrassing how that little flick of crimson tongue threatened to make Stretch forget all his questions again. But what he said snapped Stretch back out of it. “Not at all. Quite the opposite, actually.” 

“okay. hang on right there.” Stretch set his water bottle down and propped an elbow on the table. He rested his face in one hand, pressing a knuckle between his eye sockets where a headache was starting to form. “what does that even mean? what the fuck is up with this place?”

“There is nothing up with this place,” the other guy said, testily. Whether that was from Stretch’s questions or the fact that he was interrupting his reading was up for grabs. “This is normal here and if you’re having difficulty with it, then the problem is yours, not the town’s.”

“i don’t have a problem with it, i never said it was a problem…!” Stretch blew out a frustrated sigh, “look, i’m just trying to understand!”

The other skeleton still didn’t look up, his crimson eye lights focused on the page in front of him. His mouth curved into a smile that was almost bitter and a stern reminder of who he was because in that moment he looked very reminiscent of Red. “Understanding Backwater is a fool’s errand and I suggest you get used to not.” His eye lights flicked up briefly. “If you recall, I tried to get you to leave. You’re the one who wanted to stay.”

“i…yeah. i did. i still do,” Stretch said, defiantly, “wanting to understand doesn’t mean i want to leave, you know.” He left off the ‘asshole’; if this guy didn’t already know he was one, Stretch wasn’t gonna waste his time trying to tell him. “edgar allen really helped me out, i was losing my shit out in that field.” 

“That’s his job,” the guy said. See, that right there, that was an extra piece to the puzzle Stretch was struggling to make. Helping people out of the cornfield was Edgar Allen’s job as a sentient scarecrow, good to know, even if one of the townies might’ve wanted to bring it up before Stretch took a stroll through the stalks. 

“his job. okay, i get that, but not in a paycheck sort of way, right?” No answer and Stretch hesitated, drumming his fingers on the table as he considered, “wonder if he gets bored out there, hanging out all day long in the corn. think he'd like a magazine or something? maybe a farmer's almanac?” Not like it could hurt to add a scarecrow to his friends list, but how could he get it to him, leave it right inside the field and give him a shout? Maybe the corn would give him a heads up, it sure seemed chatty when it wanted to be and—

He abruptly realized that the other skeleton was staring at him, but not in a scornful way this time. It was a little softer somehow, those sharp eye lights assessing. 

“what?” Stretch asked, a little defensively.

A beat of silence, then, “He's usually sleeping if no one is in the field,” the skeleton said, finally, “But that's very thoughtful of you.”

“never hurts to repay a favor. how do you know so much about edgar allen, anyway? do all the locals know or are you special?” Stretch gave the room another quick glance; there were two other tables with their own chairs, the faded floral pattern on the cushions barely visible in the dimness. Tucked into one corner was an old-fashioned card catalogue and next to it was an ancient computer, the monitor showing only bright white text against a black screen and a blinking cursor. Only one table had any books on it, the one Daddy Long Legs here was using, and that was it. They really were alone in here and now that Stretch thought of it, that was kind of weird, wasn’t it? Should be at least one other person here, unless— “are you the librarian?” 

“No,” the skeleton scoffed, “There is no librarian. And as to what I know, I simply pay attention. Simple observation can be very informative.” 

“it hasn’t helped me out much yet.” Stretch leaned forward a little, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “you know, i still haven’t heard your name.”

“That would be because I haven't said it." But the skeleton gave him a faint smile and it was miles different than those past sardonic ones, soft and secretive. It shouldn’t have been fascinating, watching those sharp teeth curve warmly. "But if you ask, I may give it to you."

"for keepsies and everything?" Stretch teased, ignoring his slight breathlessness, seriously, he was not this hard up, he really must’ve gotten too much sun. "okay, how can i resist. what's your name?"

Crimson eye lights met his, a brief flicker, then back to the book. "You can call me Edge."

Stretch ignored the fluttering trill of delight in his soul, it was a name, for fuck’s sake, not an invitation. "edge,” he repeated, curling his tongue around that single, stark syllable. “that's some careful phrasing there, edge."

"Yes. It is,” the guy, Edge, agreed. “Nonetheless, that is what you can call me."

“edge,” Stretch said again, just to say it, “i like that."

Just in case Stretch got any ideas that he might not be a complete dick, Edge made sure to say as dry as glass of desert sand, “Wonderful, I've been waiting with bated breath for your reassurance. And if you want to know more about Edgar Allen, I’d suggest talking to his creator. You have a few weeks left, the scarecrow will be around until harvest time.”

Stretch frowned in confusion; what the hell did that mean? “what happens after harvest time?”

“He ceases to exist,” Edge said, matter of fact, “like all the scarecrows before him.” Yeah, because everyone knew that, right, who didn’t, that was probably kindergarten shit around here. 

Only Stretch obviously hadn’t been around for that class. Stretch lurched backwards, accidently knocking over the water bottle and almost tipping over his chair as he blurted out, “what? he dies??”

Edge caught the bottle before it could roll onto the floor, setting it back upright. “He’d have to be properly alive to die. As I said, if you’d like to know more, ask his creator.”

“who, the wicked witch at the end of the woods? no thanks,” Stretch shook his head, which was still reeling from the knowledge that the guy who’d save him this afternoon was going to go kaput before Halloween. It wasn’t enough time, not at all, he hadn’t even figured out how to get him a magazine, how to properly thank him. Just another incident of ‘not fair’ to add to his lifetime, “i already had my children of the corn adventure, i’m not interested in adding any red riding hood to my agenda. doesn’t really go with my work schedule.”

Edge only arched a browbone, “On the contrary, his creator is my roommate.”

Wow, this guy really did like dropping puzzle pieces into Stretch’s lap, didn’t he, if only he’d do other lap-related—stop it, he told himself, then aloud, “oh, so you do live someplace. your bro wouldn’t tell me where.”

“A remarkably astute choice on his part.” 

“i mean, you're already living rent-free in my head." Shit, shit, Stretch _knew_ he didn’t mean to say that, but apparently his mind hadn’t sent the memo down to his mouth yet that Red’s sexy brother was off-limits, caution tape engaged. 

"I…what?" Edge only looked confused and yeah, okay, dipping his toe into the flirting pond was only gonna give him wet feet. Tempting as a fling might be, Red was against it and Stretch didn’t really blame him. Just because Edge was single didn’t mean he wanted a starring role in Stretch’s shitty Hallmark movie and a fling was all it could be, a quick little rebound fuck, and his boss/landlord’s little brother was not the right choice for it, nope, nope, nope.

But, oh, honey, those _hips—_

“never mind,” Stretch said hurriedly, “what are you reading, anyway.”

“I’m doing research.” Dismissively, a pretty big clue that Edge was done with this particular chat. Stretch’s knees were doing a lot better, it was probably time to head out back to the store and surely Red could put him in touch with Edge’s roommate if he was really curious about Edgar Allen. He should go, _should_ , but. 

Stretch didn’t want to leave yet. Stupidly, he really wanted this guy’s tally mark on Doris’s side of the friendship list. Red was over there now, Edgar Allen was hovering in neutral territory, and Mitch was still firmly on the other side of the page, and hey, if a fling was off the table, friends might still be up for grabs, right?

“yeah?” Stretch craned his neck, squinting at the page, “maybe i could help.”

“I sincerely doubt it.”

Stretch ignored that, “come on, i know how to research.” Stretch grabbed one of the books from the stack and flipped through, pausing to frown down at the page. “uh. what language is this?” He wasn’t even entirely sure it _was_ a language. 

Edge almost ripped the book from his hands, snarling out, “What it is, is from the restricted section and none of your business!”

Stung, Stretch looked around the library. It was literally one room, not so much as an extra door in sight, not even a restroom. “restricted section? where? do you keep them locked up on the roof?”

Edge took a long, deep breath in through his nasal cavity, then ground out through gritted teeth, “Do you mind? I’d like to get on with it. I do not need your help, I don’t need anything from you!”

“sorry, sorry,” Stretch mumbled, cringing inwardly. He just had to push it, didn’t he, every fucking time, Blue always tried to tell him that slow and easy was the way to go, but, no, couldn’t do that, now could he? Stupid, so stupid, always, and Stretch slid clumsily off the chair to his feet and headed for the door. Even then he couldn’t help adding, “see you around.”

Guess he could add this guy’s name beneath Mitch’s in the ‘hates me’ column.

He wasn’t two steps away when a soft, “Wait,” stopped him.

Stretch turned back around, hardly daring to let the hope well in his soul. Edge was sitting sideways in his chair and he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his skull, fingers clattering against the smooth bone, “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

“it’s fine,” Stretch said hurriedly, “i’m the outsider here, right?”

“Yes.” Edge said, a simple agreement. “But that’s no excuse. You’re very fond of questions, perhaps you’d care to answer mine. Tell me, why are _you_ here?”

Stretch hesitated, then shrugged. Not like Red didn’t already know. “broke up with my boyfriend. it…kinda sucked, and i wanted to get out of my hometown for a while.” The memory was enough to finish cooling off any of his overheated jets and almost absently he rubbed his sternum, right over the faint, lingering ache where his soul sat.

Edge frowned, his sockets narrowing in irritation, "If you’re not going to tell the truth, then you can just say you don’t want to talk about it."

Huh?

“hold up, what?” Stretch asked, bewildered. Like he needed any other confusion today.

“That’s not why you’re here,” Edge said decisively, with enough arrogant confidence to grate over Stretch’s already raw nerves.

“uh, yeah, it is,” Stretch said, his own irritation rising, why did he want to be friends with this guy again? “i think i’d know better than anyone.” He ignored the taste rising at the back of his throat, faint bitterness that refused to be swallowed away, and yeah, okay, maybe, it wasn’t the entire reason, but like Edge’s name, you took what you could get. 

“Then you don’t know yourself as well as you believe.” Edge stood up then and walked over the shelves and Stretch followed him, more to watch the sway of his hips than to see check out the local dewy decimal layout. Hey, if he was going to deal with the asshole outbursts, he should at least get to enjoy the view.

Edge barely had to search before he pulled one off the shelf and held it out. “You should check out a book. As I said, there’s no librarian, it’s all based on trust. Write the catalogue number on the record and have it back in two weeks.”

Stretch looked at the book Edge was holding out. It was a thick, hardback novel, heavy enough to use for self-defense or maybe against alien invaders with a lethal allergy to paper cuts. “nah, i think i’ll stick to the movies.”

“Read this book,” Edge said and there was a certain urgency in his voice, in the way he held the book. 

Stretch sighed inwardly and took it. This guy was hot as hell, yeah, like the town, and just as peculiar. He turned the book over and read from the spine, ‘An Informal History of Backwater.’ He looked back up. “what, is the formal history too posh for me?”

“Just read it,” Edge said, impatiently.

“yeah, okay, i can do that,” Stretch sighed. It had to be better than nightly ‘Wheel of Fortune.’ Then, because he was an idiot and always liked a chance to prove it, he said, “so, if you think i need to talk to your roomie about edgar allen, does that mean you’re inviting me over to your place?”

“No, it means you need to do your own research and find them,” Edge smiled then, suddenly, wide and bright, “But if you happen to find your way down the path, I may feed you when you get there, Riding Hood.”

Stretch stared helplessly at that smile. All his irritation melted away as he tried not to see the way it changed Edge’s entire face, suffusing those sharp angles with softened warmth. 

He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, and it wasn’t exactly the kind of dinner invitation any normal person might’ve hoped for, but then, Stretch was starting to learn that if he wanted normal, he should’ve stayed on the bus.

“okay, then,” Stretch said, trying for something at least slightly above inane, “i’ll, uh, start looking for grandma’s house.”

“You do that.” With that, Edge went back over to the table, sitting back down in front of his book, and Stretch knew he was dismissed. 

Okay, well, not exactly a friend yet, but he was still adding this one to the tentative win column. First, read the book and then he’d start on the new puzzle of finding out where Edge and his roommate lived. He wasn't as good at puzzles as his brother, sure, but Stretch was pretty sure he could manage that. 

He did hope the whole Riding Hood gig was a joke, though. Stretch wasn’t really interested in meeting the big bad wolf right about now.

* * *

tbc


	7. The Kindness of Strangers

* * *

It was with a heavy, weird-ass book in hand that Stretch returned to the heat of the afternoon. This time he made haste getting back to the store while his knees were cooperating, almost jogging on the sidewalk and waving to any regular customers as he passed. The sun was on its downward path by now and the strollers were out in full force, the Human moms and pops pushing them hardly paying him any mind past a ‘good afternoon’ as he went by. 

His knees were back to the wibble-wobbles when he slipped through the door, the bell announcing him with a muted clank. The first thing he noticed was that Red wasn’t behind the counter. He was standing at the back of the store, leaning on his cane and blocking off the hallway that led to both their living quarters. Yeah, that looked like insurance that Stretch couldn’t hurry on past him upstairs; Red wasn’t quick, but he also wasn’t stupid, and Stretch could feel his hard gaze scrutinizing him from across the store. 

Wonderbar.

Stretch pasted on a grin and tried to act like someone who hadn’t been recently felt up by Red’s little brother in the public library. Not that Red said that he couldn’t, but some things, (for example, random groping) could probably be inferred. 

“hey, what’s up?” Stretch said brightly.

“my bro called,” Red said bluntly, and Stretch’s feeble hopes deflated like yesterday’s party balloon. So much for discretion. 

“i can explain,” Stretch blurted, “it wasn’t my idea, seriously, i was only—"

Red interrupted him with an amused snort. “easy, kid, don’t haul out your guilty conscience on my account. all he did was give me the gist of things, said you had yourself an unexpected adventure.” Red jerked his head towards the hallway. “g’wan, string bean, you can use my bathroom. take a shower and cool off.”

A cool shower pouring down on his dirty, sweaty bones sounded like Eden itself right about now, apple not included.

“thanks,” Stretch said gratefully. He skirted around Red, who didn’t move, only squatted there like a grouchy stump in the middle of the doorway while Stretch squeezed around him. Must be tempering his kindness with a little extra asshole to keep things even. 

On his way to showerland, Stretch took a quick detour to leave the book on the coffee table amidst the clutter. Maybe he could ask Red about it, get the cliff notes version.

The shower in the downstairs bathroom was stuck with the same crappy water heater as upstairs, not that it mattered since Stretch was about ready to cuddle with an iceberg to cool off. Added bonus, the showerhead was a lot better and it managed to crank the feeble water pressure up to its max. There was a cheap plastic stool sitting in the tub, way too short for Stretch. He sat on it anyway, knees almost up to his chin as the cool water poured down on him and washed away the sweat and filth.

He was shivering a little by the time he was done, dragging a ratty towel over his dripping bones. The pile of his clothes was missing and there a new folded bundle sitting on the closed toilet lid. He must’ve been out of it more than he thought, he’d never even heard Red coming in. Unless laundry fairies were a thing and wasn’t that idea a lot more pertinent than it was yesterday. 

Stretch picked up the bundle and part of it fell on the floor. Pajama pants, luckily not a pair of Red’s although it might’ve been hilarious to see Stretch wandering around like a scrawny hulk who sprouted upward out of his clothes instead of sideways. They were red plaid flannel and worn to the stage of being shiny at the knees and elbows. Probably an old pair of Edge’s, the fit was pretty close and not too many Humans wore their waistband quite as skinny as a guy without a waist.

(he was not getting a cheap thrill out of wearing a pair of Edge’s pajamas, no matter what his libido was trying to tell him)

He wandered out into Red’s living room, still squeegeeing his skull dry with the damp towel, and saw the sofa was made up with some blankets and a pillow, the television remote set helpfully in reach.

“you done?” Red’s voice echoed up from the store and his peculiar gait made its way down the hallway until he appeared again in the doorway. “then lay down and turn on the boob tube, zone out awhile. you’ll feel better.”

“what did your brother tell you?” Stretch asked. Not that he wasn’t willing to do what he was told. The couch was saggy in the middle, but the blankets were clean and smelling of laundry detergent. They felt blissfully cozy after the cold shower.

“said you met edgar allen,” Red said. “under less than stellar circumstances, i’m guessin’, since i don’t think ya got an invite for a meet and greet with the local scarecrow.”

This time his shiver had nothing to do with the temperature. Edgar Allen was an okay guy, (guy?) but Stretch was still on the fence about the corn’s attitude problems. “not exactly, no. thanks for the heads up, by the way.”

Red tilted his skull to one side, baffled, “heads up about what?”

“i dunno,” Stretch leaned up on an elbow to see him better and hopefully increase the effect of his dirty look, “maybe when you’re warning me off from the local landmarks, you could’ve touch on that fact that a stroll through the fields might involve the corn trying to hold me as a captive audience?”

“naaah,” Red scoffed. Stretch didn’t miss the way he absently started picking at his gold tooth; that was a nervous tell right there and maybe all this wasn’t just concern but dealing with a little guilt that Stretch’s latest town bonding experience was less than top notch. “that's why the damn scarecrow is there t'begin with. ‘sides, even without him you’d have gotten out before dark. anyway, never expected you to go tromping off into the corn in search of a maze, sorry i misgauged the direction of your dumbass.” 

“no, i’m sorry, not your fault.” Stretch couldn’t hold back a yawn so wide it nearly split his skull, yeesh, it wasn’t even dinner time and he was ready to sleep for a week. The imaginary hamster running on the wheel in his head wasn’t quite as ready and it decided to race back to thoughts of Edge sitting in the library, alone. Researching he’d said, so intent on his books from the so-called restricted section, like a bargain basement Hogwarts. “hey, what does your brother do?”

“mostly he’s a pain in my ass.”

It was said with great feeling and Stretch snerked out a laugh. Yeah, kinda a universal trait with little brothers. “no, seriously, i mean, for a living, what does he do?”

Red shifted his feet, his cane scraping the floor. “why are ya askin’?”

“curious. bored,” Stretch shrugged, “take your pick.” He didn’t really want to explain to Red that his brother wasn’t just a sexy pair of legs in boots anymore, (but those hips would never be forgotten). He was interesting, no, _fascinating_. This whole town was turning out to be some kind of puzzle and it seemed to him that Edge might be a big piece. He’d said that figuring out Backwater was a fool’s errand, but he’d never met Stretch’s kind of fool before. 

“kid—” Red sighed and that resigned tone snapped Stretch out of his whimsies. He cringed internally. What was he even trying to do here, he owed Red so much and not just for the job, and here he was digging for information about his bro after Red already warned him off, not once, but twice, so maybe what he was really digging was his own grave, if he didn’t knock it off. 

“nevermind,” Stretch said hurriedly. “i shouldn’t’ve asked, none of my business, i get it.”

Red shook his head. “that ain’t it.”

Stretch tried on a little laugh, ha ha, see, it wasn’t that big a deal, right? “look, the state of your brother’s ass aside, i get it. that’s your little brother, and i didn’t forget what you said. we only bumped into each other at the library, i’m really not trying to get into his pants.” 

He left off on making it a promise; he was telling the truth, but why take the chance on not keeping it.

He didn’t expect the hand that suddenly scruffed over his skull, like the noogies he used to give to Blue when he was little…well, okay, Blue was still little but noogieing was off the table since he’d started his guard training. 

This wasn’t like that childish roughhousing, Red’s knuckles only scraped softly along his coronal sutures. “no, kid, you don’t get it. my bro can handle himself, it ain’t him i’m worried about. but you? don’t ya got the feeling you ain’t up to any new affairs of the soul right now? might want to take it easy awhile.”

That unexpectedly gruff kindness made tears sting in his sockets. Stretch guiltily leaned into that touch to absorb every drop, and how was it he could accept it from Red when he couldn’t take it from his own brother? “i don’t get you. you barely even know me. why are you so nice to me?”

Red huffed out a laugh. “you want i should be an asshole? okay, but i gotta warn ya, i’m a contender when it comes to dick moves.”

“thanks, but you can keep your dick in your pants.” 

“your loss.”

“seriously, though, what i mean is. i just don’t get it. this place is so weird, but everyone is nice.” It didn’t exactly line up with Stretch’s view of the world. His brother was always nice sure and Snowdin hadn’t been too bad, if you didn’t count the fact that all his friends were from drinking his nights away at Muffet’s. The surface world ran about fifty-fifty with Monsters being on the kinder side of the scale…until he got dumped and found out he lost all his friends in the divorce, how was that for loyalty.

Red only chuckled. “now you’ve gone and cursed yourself. can’t say everyone is nice, you ain’t met everyone yet.”

That was true, fuck, he hoped the universe wasn’t listening and if it was, that it didn’t decide to drum up a little drama. “red?”

“yeah, kid?”

Stretch craned his head back on the pillow and met Red’s crimson gaze upside-down. “thank you for being nice.”

“don’t tell anyone. i’ll lose my resident asshole status. 

“secret is safe with me, promise.” Stretch yawned again and the cow bell suddenly jangled loudly out front, startling them both.

Red shouted. “yeah, i’m coming!” He tossed over his shoulder back at Stretch, “take tomorrow off, sleep in, you ain’t had a day off since ya got here.”

“thanks, boss.”

Stretch started to settle in, nap ahoy, captain, hard to starboard and all that, and his eye lights snagged on the book. Shit, he forgot to ask Red about it. Probably didn’t matter, Red’s ingredient label kinda went equal parts of cryptic and cryptid, so he probably wasn’t gonna give the right answers even if Stretch figured out what to ask.

Wait. 

If Red and Edge want to share the part of the local Obi-Wan with their mysterious ways, that was fine. He already had the perfect person lined up to ask about the town’s history. Well, part of a person, anyway, the most important part. 

Plan formed, Stretch turned on the television and snuggled into the blankets, letting the dulcet tones of Pat Sajak lull him to sleep. 

He didn’t dream.

* * *

The next day, Stretch headed over to the theater bright and early, still munching on the muffin Red handed off to him as he settled on the stool for the day with his latest book, this one with a bare-chested pirate embracing a busty Human woman as the ocean sprayed up the hull over them. Seemed to Stretch that would be less smokin’ sexytimes and more cold and wet, but what did he know, his closest encounter with the ocean was extra salt on his Applebee’s margarita. 

“thanks, mom,” Stretch said as he took the little paper lunch bag Red held out to him. Red only grunted and didn’t look up from his book. In the midst of rummaging for his tasty free breakfast, Stretch hesitated at the front door. 

He felt a little guilty even though Red was the one who told him to take the day. Before he started working at the store, was Red really sitting there all day long, twelve hours of a cash register and customers while he drank beer and soaked up a little romance language in the form of a cheap paperback?

Not that Stretch was judging, hell, if that made Red happy, more power to him. Still, there had to be more to his life than that, didn’t there? Maybe he’d see if Mitch sold sudoku pads at the gas station, pick him up one along with a six-pack. Hard to guess if they carried that kind of entertainment; Mitch was either some kind of crossword grand champion or the kind of guy who ate ketchup on his cheerios and Stretch still wasn’t sure which. 

The first movie showing wasn’t for another hour, but Igor didn’t make a fuss when Stretch asked him if he could go sit down early. (and holy shit, the proprietor’s name was actually _Igor?_ He wasn’t sure if the guy’s parents hated him or if the universe’s sense of irony rolled a natural D20 when it hit this town.)

Igor only grunted and handed over two cups of popcorn without being asked, handing back a crumpled dollar in change. Aww, Stretch had a usual, see, he was settling into town just fine, suck it, Edge. 

(don’t think it, don’t think it, don’t think it…) 

Stretch made his way to the theater to his regular seat, propping his sneakers up on the chair in front of him. The popcorn he set aside for now, it wasn’t exactly his idea of a breakfast treat and that muffin Red gave him was still settling into his magic. To be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure if Doris _could_ show up very long before the movie. He was no expert, but he did know that ghosts could have some peculiar rules about manifesting. Hopefully this wouldn’t mess with her morning routine, whatever it was. 

He didn’t have to wait long. Maybe Doris could sense him or maybe she could just feel it when a living person came into the theater. She slowly came into focus next to him, pale ectoplasm coalescing, and the already cool air chilled even further. 

Doris happily sniffed at her popcorn as she said, whispery soft, “Good morning, Stretch, you’re here very early.”

“yeah, took the day off work,” Stretch said. His voice sounded too loud in the empty theater, not even the elevator music was playing yet. “i need your help with something.”

He might as well have flipped Doris’s switch to ‘on’. She lit up, a smile curving her pretty mouth and seeming more solid than ever. The seat behind her was barely visible through her pale pink dress as she said eagerly, “Of course, anything that I can do.”

So that was how Stretch came to tell her the story about Edgar Allen. He didn’t leave out any details, including the bit about the kids shouting at him not to go in the field, the corn closing in around him in a dizzying maze of green, Edgar Allen’s assistance, and Edge’s cryptic warning that the scarecrow would disappear with the harvest. 

Doris listened to it all raptly, her eyes wide and startlingly blue, and she never flickered once the entire time. The only unsettling sight was a single trickle of blood running down the side of her face, gathering in a heavy droplet on her chin. 

“My, that sounds terrifying,” Doris breathed, unaware of the irony of her saying that while a slender thread of ghostly blood ran down her cheek. The droplet swelled fatly, growing until it finally fell with a plip onto her dress, leaving behind a perfectly round spot that would slowly vanish, only to be replaced by the next drop.

It didn’t really bother Stretch much anymore; he was getting used to it and an old memory of blood was nothing compared to his recent woes. “yeah, it was spooky all right.”

“But I’m not sure I can help you,” Doris continued sadly, “There wasn’t a scarecrow in my day, not that I remember. But the corn. Yes. That I recall.” She shivered delicately and her chair let out a strange groan of springs. “A person could get lost for days in the corn. I remember…” Her already faint voice went softer and Stretch strained to hear her, her gaze distant. “I remember one year at harvest time, they found a skeleton in the field, it was awful. Oh!” She gasped and pressed a gloved hand to her mouth, “I’m so sorry, it was a dead person, not a skeleton like you!”

“no offense taken,” Stretch assured her. He slouched down in his seat even more and waggled his feet, his untied shoelaces laces bobbing against the seatback “huh. so at least one person died out in the corn.”

“I’m afraid I don’t remember much about it,” Doris admitted. “whoever it was, they weren’t local.”

“uh huh.” An outsider, then, like him, getting munched up by the corn triffids. “who owns the corn fields, anyway?”

“I…” she hesitated, then apologetically. “I’m not sure. I don’t know if I’ve forgotten or if I never knew.”

Another mystery. If he was gonna play at Sherlock Holmes, he really needed to start taking notes. Maybe get a pipe.

“welp, either way, edgar allen bro out there saved my ass,” Stretch told her. He picked up a piece of popcorn and didn’t eat it, only crumpled it between his fingers and let the mangled bits fall to the floor, “and he’s gonna die come harvest time. i feel like i owe it to him to at least hear his story, you know? edge wouldn’t tell me much, just gave me that book and a scavenger hunt.”

“This Edge person doesn’t sound very nice,” Doris said disapprovingly. Her mouth pulled down into a frown that flashed briefly to a bloody smear. “Is he local?”

“kinda? he’s a monster like me, so he could only have been in town for a coupla years. since we came to the surface, anyway.”

Sudden relief washed over Doris’s pretty face. “He’s not a human, then.”

“nope, he’s another skeleton monster.” That seemed to satisfy her. Note to self, Doris wasn’t real keen on Humans, in a way that didn’t seem like it was only about the way they ran away when they got a good look at her. That mystery wasn’t all too mysterious, not with a big, bloody clue flickering in and out of view like a gory version of a kid’s flipbook. If that was a going away present from another Human, he didn’t blame her for being wary. He wondered if she’d met Edge before but Stretch hesitated to bring up that idea, or to mention Red; he didn’t want her to feel bad if she didn’t remember. “yep, another skeleton monster in town. he’s kinda rough around the _edges,_ but he’s okay.”

“Okay, is that all?” Doris said with unexpected mischievousness, “he didn’t sound simply ‘okay’ when you were describing him.”

A blush flared hotly in his cheekbones and Stretch hunched down in his seat, weirdly embarrassed in a way he hadn’t been with Red. At least Red could see what he was staring at, Doris only had him waxing poetically about Edge’s hips to go by, and Shakespeare he wasn’t.

“yeah, yeah,” Stretch grumbled, and damn, he should’ve brought along his hoodie, at least he could’ve hidden from the laughter shining in her translucent eyes. She had a dimple in the cheek on her good side and it deepened as Stretch admitted, “could be that i enjoy the view. but that’s it, okay? just a little sightseeing, i don’t need any souvenirs.”

“Uh huh,” Doris clicked her tongue thoughtfully, “Stretch, my mama always told me you can’t hurry up a good time by waiting for it.” 

Other people were starting to come into the theater now. One of them gave him a curious look, but they didn’t stop, only followed the others down to the front row. 

“the only time i’m looking for is in the nick of,” Stretch sighed. “guess there’s no way around it, i’ll have to read the book.” 

He should’ve known not to try to find an easy way out; seemed like all his shortcuts had abandoned him, lately. 

Doris laid a hand on his arm and a sudden chill sank its teeth in deep enough for his bones to ache. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help,” Doris said softly. 

“nah, you helped plenty,” Stretch told her. She had. Now he knew that scarecrows were slightly more recent, at least within the past century and that maybe the cornfield wasn’t quite as safe as it’d been played off to be. At least a cornfield without Edgar Allen in it. 

The lights started dimming, the first credits beginning to roll. His popcorn was cold, the butter congealing it into clumps of greasy blobs that stuck to his fingers. Stretch ate it anyway, hey, it cost him a dollar, and laughed with Doris as Buster Keaton escaped from a bumbling crowd of cops by grabbing onto a passing car. 

His phone was in his pocket, tucked in deep and only lightly pressing against his femur through the thin cloth of his shorts. It vibrated once in a quick, staccato burst while the movie was playing but Stretch ignored it. 

That was one lesson he’d learned very well while they still lived under the mountain; if you focused on the task at hand, you didn’t have to think about the ones you left behind.

* * *

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Please check out the awesome artwork that gilded_pleasure did for this chapter! ](https://twitter.com/gilded_pleasure/status/1334871978365349891) Red makes a great mom. 🥰


	8. 3.14159 Day

* * *

When Stretch left the theater it was with a new collection of question to add to his mental drop box. He told Doris he’d see her tomorrow, promising her updates to the mystery if he managed to Velma his way to any clues. On his way out, he tossed their popcorn cups into the trash, his empty and hers full, and gave Igor a little wave as he went through the outer door. 

Igor didn’t smile, but he did wave back and hey, there was another positive mark to his list, looked like Igor was advancing to the rank of ‘acquaintance’. That was good, he could use a few more friends in his shiny new collection.

The bright sunlight beaming down from overhead made him squint and Stretch headed back towards the store, his mind on starting the book Edge gave him. He was already mentally groaning at digging through some kind of dry history book, but if that’s where the answers were, welp, he better start shoveling. 

Loud shouts and a clanking sound jarred him from his thoughts. Coming up the sidewalk was a small dog running flat out and Stretch could only stare in disbelief at what looked like a bunch of tin cans tied to the poor thing’s tail, like it just ran out of one of the old timey movies he’d been watching lately. 

Behind it two boys were running after and jeering, clearly terrifying the animal more. Its tongue was lolling out, its mouth foamy with saliva, and its eyes showing whites around dark brown centers.

Yeah, this was getting handled, right fucking now.

A touch of blue magic would’ve made this easier to deal with and it was a damn shame Stretch couldn’t use it. Didn’t mean he couldn’t make do with what he had, and he didn’t even think. He flattened himself against the window of the ‘Secret Seconds Thrift Shop’ to let the dog run past and before the boys could follow, he stuck out his foot. One boy ran right into it and it sent his forward dash into a Nascar spinout right into his friend, sending both of them headfirst into the trash cans set at the corner with a loud crash and spilling out the remnants of a dozen or so greasy lunches from ‘Mama’s’. 

Both of them struggled to their feet, slipping in mounds of garbage and their clothes stained in old coffee grounds and a revolting mixture of rotten food gone almost liquid in the summer heat. Even from a distance the stench made Stretch’s nonexistence stomach roll over with an unpleasant lurch. 

The taller one swung around towards Stretch, his face twisting in fury, and his shorter friend didn’t look much happier. He didn’t recognize either of them from the store and that was when Stretch realized these guys were a helluva lot bigger and older than he’d previously thought; no kiddos here, they were either adults or close to it, and here they were, out tormenting little dogs on a hot summer day like this was a damned serial killer training day. 

Stretch met that furious gaze head on and asked flatly, “what the fuck is wrong with you two?”

That glare only hardened and the guy sneered, showing teeth that were already graying with rot, yeesh, he’d gone out for a old timey movie and a mystery and instead he’d found a walking cliché from an 80’s high school flick, proof positive when he snarled, “You’re dead, city boy.”

“seriously? that’s a little over dramatic don’t you think?” Stretch took a healthy step back, hands held out defensively. Both of these guys looked like they meant it, coming towards him like a couple trash zombies with fists at the ready. 

A quick glance around didn’t bring any allies into view. Even this early it was hot enough out that the sidewalks were empty, the actual town kiddos nowhere in sight. He could dodge into the thrift shop, but the proprietor, Magdalen May, was old enough that she probably used to babysit for Granny Collemore on the weekends. No way in hell he was dragging her into it, even if the old lady was pretty swift with a broom when the squirrels came out to investigate her sidewalk displays.

Nah, he was on his own for this, but even if it wasn’t two on one, if these guys were ready to throw down, Stretch wasn’t in any condition to pick it up. Not without his magic. 

Stretch was still pretty light on his feet, though, and he took another step back, tensed in preparation to run his ass back down to the store, yowling like a fire engine all the way. Pride wasn’t much good when you were getting swept into a dustpan. 

Turned out, he didn’t have to. The garbage pail twins weren’t even close when a voice came from behind. 

“That’s enough.” Softly said and Stretch knew that voice, all roughly chopped dark chocolate and never had it sounded so delicious. He spared a second to look away from the approaching menaces to see Edge standing in the doorway to the library. He was leaning against the jamb, both arms crossed over his chest and a dark frown marring his handsome face.

Tall Trash Boy came to a halt, his scowl deepening. “Didn’t know you were in town, Edge.”

“And now you do.” Cold words that even the heat of the day couldn’t melt. Edge hooked a thumb down the sidewalk. “Both of you, get lost. Preferably downwind.”

The expected argument or threats didn’t come. They did as they were told and didn’t that bring up a few more question about Edge, hell yes, it did, the town troublemakers wary of the local library skeleton? The taller guy glared at Stretch as he walked past in a wall of stench, his fingers flexing as if they were itching to test a hypothesis on whether choking a skeleton was possible. 

Great, now he had a nemesis, just the gift he’d never wanted. He’d have to add another section to his mental relationship spreadsheet.

It was probably a good thing it was Edge playing the shining knight to Stretch’s impromptu fairy tale act, his reputation had already taken a hit yesterday with the locals, what with the corny rescue. He didn’t know if he could take being saved by anyone else; at least Edge was already unimpressed by him. 

Edge watched them go, never looking away until they were around the corner. Only then did he turn back to Stretch, “Are you all right?”

Stretch didn’t bother to answer, not yet. He was already giving those assholes a pass, heading over to where the little dog was cowering in the alley by the thrift shop. Big brown eyes looked up at him fearfully. “hey, boy,” he said softly. He held out a hand and waited patiently for the pup to hesitantly sniff his boney fingers, hopefully without sampling the merchandise. A whip-thin tail started to wag, stirring up dust and sending a jangle through the cans tied to it as a warm, wet tongue laved ticklishly over his hand. Stretch let out a soft laugh, gently scratching behind the floppy ears. “yeah, you’re okay. c’mere, let me help.” 

The dog lay patiently while Stretch worked on the rope around its tail, only whining occasionally as Stretch struggled with the knots. They were painfully tight and it took a minute for Stretch to pick them loose, freeing the pup from its tin-can torment. 

“There you go, buddy.” The second it was free, the dog scrambled to his feet, shaking vigorously and that furious tail wagging trebled. The pup licked Stretch’s face with sloppy appreciation, but he didn’t hang around. With a last messy lick, he turned and trotted off in the opposite direction as the trash boys, disappearing around a corner and out of Stretch’s life. 

“that’s gratitude for you,” Stretch said aloud. He stood up and dusted off his shorts, then carried the string of cans over to the remaining trash cans that were still upright and tossed them in with a rattling clang. Edge watched him the whole time, sockets narrowed, and his expression was one that was coming up blanks in Stretch’s mental filter. 

He winced internally. Getting into fights with the locals probably wasn’t gonna endear him to anyone in town. 

“sorry about all that, didn’t mean to stir up trouble,” Stretch let out an unsteady laugh, shoes scuffing uncomfortably on the sidewalk. “they’re probably okay guys, right, boys will be boys, all that shit.” 

But Edge shook his head. “No,” Edge said curtly, “Joey is a bully and he needs discipline. I’ll be speaking with his father. I’ve seen your HP, that was hardly an idle threat.”

Um, okay, there was a revealing tidbit that Stretch wasn’t the only one with his snooping shoes on. _Someone_ was doing Checks from the sidelines. “then i guess my thank you for the save is canceled out by you being a nosy nancy.”

“I prefer snooping Sarah,” Edge said. He wandered over to toe at the trash cans with an expression of exquisite distaste and left them where they were. Seemed like his heroic tendencies didn’t extend to the municipal sanitation workers. Not that Stretch was volunteering to help with the cleanup either, no thanks, he was much more interested in watching the shift of Edge’s hips as he walked. Here they were with the temperatures climbing high into the red and this guy was walking around in a pair of nut hugger jeans that showcased the sleek line of his bones, a flash of his iliac crests peeking out slyly from under the hem of his black t-shirt. 

Stretch didn’t do small talk so much as long, rambling soliloquies of random nonsense, but he could try when the need arose and right now, that need was climbing mountains because the fact of the matter was, he didn’t want Edge to leave yet. He wanted Edge to stay, wanted to hear him talking a little longer about anything, everything, so with all the eloquence Stretch could muster, he fumbled out, “so, uh, what are you doing in town today?”

Aw, yeah, he was Mister Swingle, all right. Next he’d be asking Edge to come over this weekend to play D & D in his mom’s basement.

Good thing that Edge didn’t seem too bothered by the lead up. He only shoved his hands into his pockets, and seriously, finding room for them in those jeans had to defy several laws of physics. “My roommate had a sudden urge for pie and insisted that only Mama’s would do,” Edge said sourly.

Interesting, another mention of the elusive roommate/local scarecrow animator. “okay,” Stretch said slowly, “if they wanted the pie, why didn’t they come with?” Would’ve saved Stretch from trying to narrow down their location for a visit.

“They can only come out at night.” Said without even a trace of irony. 

Um, what? Stretch tried not to gape at him, with minimum success. “are you serious?”

“No,” Edge smirked, “But my brother mentioned your predilection for vampires.”

Oh, hil-arious, looked like both bothers had jokes. “woah, i’m not licking anything, prada or otherwise. can’t blame me for hedging my bets around here in the land of the cannibal corn.”

“I can assure you, there are no vampires in town.” He couldn’t help but notice Edge didn’t throw up any kind of defense for the corn’s innocence.

“in town,” Stretch repeated, doubtfully, “yeah, that’s real comforting, thanks.”

Edge only held out a hand. “Come on, you look like you’re about to melt in the heat and it’s Wednesday, Mama’s has a lunch special today.”

His surprise at what was very obviously a lunch invitation was tempered by pure shock that it was Edge offering it. 

"really?” Stretch said, warily. He still took Edge’s hand, he wasn’t completely stupid, thanks. Edge was wearing gloves but there wasn’t time to mourn the lack of bone on bone action as his fingers curled around Stretch’s. “you eat at mama’s? red said you don't stay for the dinners you make because of your special diet."

Edge had started towards the diner and he paused, one brow bone arched, "Did he." 

"i mean, not judging here,” Stretch added hastily, damn, what was with the self-sabotage, here, sure it was his MO, but at some point, you’d think he’d learn. If Blue were here, he’d be trying for a new world record in eye rolling. “the stuff you bring over is great. you vegan or something?”

"Or something. I’m sure what my brother is charmingly referring to is my preference not to layer cheese and mustard over every meal.” Edge tugged on his hand again and Stretch stumbled after, following him to the diner’s front door. “I find simpler recipes more satisfying so I can actually taste the food, but I believe a piece of pie is within my range. Particularly a slice of mama’s apple.”

Fair enough and Stretch was all about taking chances. May as well take this one.

Wednesdays at Mama’s was always special menu, something to help get a fella over the hump day according to the handwritten whiteboard at the entrance. Today was pie day and there were all sorts on order, from delectably savory to sugary sweet and a few in-between.

This was the first time Stretch actually sat down in the diner to eat. Usually he got takeout and pointedly ignored the fact that the short order cook was smoking a cigarette right at the grill, hey, the ash was dropping away from the fryer, it was fine. He’d get his burger and fries handed over in a grease-spotted paper bag, take it back to eat at the wobbly table in his room. That meal combo was great, crisp lettuce and tomatoes layered over a thick beef patty and the fries were greasy, salty perfection. 

Turned out the pie was pretty damned good, too, brought over to their booth by Mama herself and someday he was gonna ask about the colorful mermaid tattoos that scrolled up both her burly forearms. Not today, he’d already gotten his fill of risk-my-life jollies, for now Stretch was sticking with pie. 

But next time he got into trouble he was running in here to hide. Mama could probably kick both those guy’s asses without batting an eyelash while she was lighting the Marlboro clenched between her teeth. 

Stretch got a piece of chicken biscuit pie, slathered in country gravy and Edge the aforementioned apple, a slice of crumbly cheddar cheese melting over the flaky crust. 

Delicious as it was, he was having a hard time giving his pie a fair slice of his attention. They both had long legs and Stretch’s gangly knees kept bumping into Edge’s as they struggled to find a place to be. He tried a few times to move out of the way but even if his magic had been in top form, his ability to bend space/time had been limited to shortcuts, not leg room.

Another painful bump and Stretch squeaked aloud when Edge caught one of his feet firmly between both his own, the leather of his boots smooth and cool against his trapped ankle.

“Hold still,” he commanded and Stretch damn near snapped him a salute. Hold still, yessir, and Edge’s foothold eased…but it didn’t move. He sat there with Stretch’s foot held in gentle captivity between his own and all the holy little angels, if this was a reward from above for the dog rescue, Stretch would take it.

It was also a helluva distraction, making it hard for him to come up with some vaguely entertaining lunchtime chatter. Stretch’s normal attempts at flirtation were about as smooth as a cheese grater. Frankly, it was a wonder he’d ever persuaded anyone to go out with him, but he had a feeling his previous knock knock technique wasn’t gonna work here.

Edge didn’t wait for him to come up with a gambit. He only swallowed his latest bite of pie and said, “That was very brave of you.”

Stretch paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “what was?” 

His thoughts on what might be wrong with the pie, (which certainly _tasted_ delicious, ugh, please don’t let it be a soylent green kind of situation) vaporized when Edge said, “Helping that dog.”

Oh, that. Stretch only shrugged and dug back into the tasty, not-human pie. “anyone who isn’t a sociopath would’ve helped that dog.”

“I’m not so sure. Plenty of locals are wary of Joey and his sidekick. They might have gone to the Sheriff, but that wouldn’t have helped the dog in time.”

“locals, right. so lemme ask you something,” Stretch licked the tines of his fork, savoring the rich, buttery flavor, good thing he didn’t have any veins to clog. “you and red both talk like you’ve been here forever, but we’ve only been in the surface a few years. how long have you been in backwater, anyway?”

Edge took a sip of his coffee, because of course he ordered a hot beverage, geez, if this guy took a vacation to hell, he’d ask Satan to borrow a sweater. “We came almost the moment we arrived on the surface.”

Okay, yeah, he’d figured that out on his own, but it didn’t really clear much up. Stretch had questions, okay, he had a list, and he was looking for some answers. May as well try while Edge was being chatty. “where did you live in the underground? ‘cause my bro and i lived in snowdin, but i got around and i don’t remember even hearing about you two, much less added you to my gyftmas card list.” 

He waited as Edge finished up his slice of pie. He ate with disturbing neatness, cutting precise little forkfuls of pie and eating each one, and took the time to wipe his mouth with a napkin before he said, “I’m afraid that’s complicated.”

“complicated,” Stretch repeated, slowly, disbelieving. Everything just had to be an ordeal, didn’t it. “complicated how? locations are not complicated, not like there was a lot of places to hide under the mountain. what, were you living in caves behind the waterfalls? down in the lava pits in hotland?”

“Something like that,” Edge said evasively. “We came to the surface with the Human who fell.”

And that tidbit made literally no sense at all. “wait, what? with chara?” Stretch didn’t really want to get thinking about the kid. He’d been something of a fun uncle for quite a while now and he missed getting to play that part. But there was no way that Edge was there when everything went down with the barrier breaking, that was purely impossible. “look, that was a real confusing time, i’ll admit, but i was _there_ when we popped out of the mountain, with the Queen and everything. pretty sure i’d’ve remembered you hanging out in the backstage crew.” At the very least, he’d remember those hips. 

To be fair, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d heard a Monster claiming to be there when it happened; everyone wanted their split-second of fame, hell, Napstaton did an hour special on it, complete with a dance number, he really did rock those heels. But Edge didn’t seem the type to go after a little fake glory.

“I’m sure you would have,” Edge agreed, and that was it, infuriatingly vague, and that made even less sense. If he was glory-hunting, he would’ve at least tried to come up with a backstory. Instead, he pushed his empty plate aside. “It doesn’t matter. The point is we decided not to stay in Ebott. I believe our journey resembles yours in that regard, only in our version, I was driving when we came to Backwater.”

“can’t you give a straight answer about anything?” Stretch asked, exasperated. Seriously, was it asking too much for something to not need pie charts and graphs and ghostly intervention to figure it out? Mama briefly interrupted by plunking a fresh plate down in front of Stretch, this time loaded with a little dessert in the form of blueberry pie, a melting scoop of vanilla ice cream oozing atop. She tore off the bill from her notepad and slapped it down, vanishing before Stretch could even thank her. 

“It seems unlikely,” Edge admitted. “As to why we ended up here…” He trailed off, fingers drumming on the tabletop as Stretch took a syrup-soaked bite of pie. “Backwater is…” he hesitated again, so much weight resting on those words, “I believe that towns have a soul.”

Okay, not quite what Stretch was expecting; pie and heresy made for an interesting meal. “souls are for living things.”

“And towns are alive,” Edge countered. “They have a life given to them by the people who live there. Towns have their own dreams to fulfill, they change, they grow. And this town, on top of everything else, it seems to attract broken things.” He lowered his voice, so softly, “And you are broken, aren’t you.”

Stretch went still, his fingers clenching around his fork. Yeah, okay, getting a little personal there, and anyway, _he_ wasn’t the mystery at hand, thanks, he’d like to keep it that way.

“broken? nah,” Stretch made a careless little scoff, “little bent, maybe—”

“Bent and battered,” Edge agreed, “but unbowed.”

“whatever,” Stretch grumbled. He took a large bite of pie, mumbling out through a mouthful of crust and berries, “i’ve been dedicating the past few weeks to repressing those memories, so can we not discuss?”

Only to nearly choke as Edge asked, “How long has your soul been damaged?”

His throat tried to clench around the mash of pie between his teeth, his magic grudgingly incorporating it as Stretch struggled to swallow it down. It was still fizzling at the back of his mouth as he rasped out, “what?”

Edge leaned in closer and sniffed deliberately, drawing in a hard breath through his nasal cavity. “You have soul damage. I can smell it and I know my brother could.” His sockets sank half-closed, hooding the crimson of his eye lights as he sniffed again, “It’s unmistakable, like scorched sugar layered over ammonia.”

What in the name of fuck…? Smelling…? He’d never even _heard_ of such a thing, so how…?

“i…i don’t…” The words clung to his tongue, refusing to be spoken. Stretch looked down, away from that intense gaze and focused on his pie. He squished a blueberry under the tines of his fork and watched dark juice bleed across the white plate, waiting for the panicked static in his mind to clear. A long, shaky breath of his own helped a little, inhaling the lingering heaviness of grease from the grill. Around them, other people were eating their pie, laughing and talking, and not paying a damn bit of attention to the way Stretch was trying not to break down, not here, _not here_ , damn it. “awhile,” Stretch managed to mutter out, “that what you want to hear? anything else you want to know or maybe you can just kick me in the shins? or stab me in the eye socket, see, that’d work for me.”

Edge tilted his head and maybe he didn’t like what he saw, because he reached out and took Stretch’s hand in his own. That singular touch was stabilizing and Stretch latched onto it gratefully, let it steady him. “I know it’s painful,” Edge said, low, his thumb moving over Stretch’s knuckles in a gentle circle, “but I’m not trying to hurt you by discussing this. This place can be good for the soul. My brother knows that better than anyone. When we first arrived here, he was the one hurting and not just physically, his pains ran soul deep, the same as yours.”

Stretch managed a harsh chuckle. It came out raw, like a wound. “like recognizes like, i guess.” In his chest, his soul gave a pained little throb, like it knew they were discussing it. He resisted the urge to rub at his sternum; he already knew it wouldn’t help, the ache wasn’t in the bone, it was deeper, untouchable, and that was just the way he wanted his soul to be. Anyway, it wasn’t as bad as it’d been before, it was healing, just like the doc said it would. He only needed time and due to certain events, he had plenty of that now, in hearts and spades. 

“That's why you're here, Stretch,” Edge told him, “It isn't about a breakup, that's incidental. It's about needing to heal. This place can be good for the soul, if you let it,” He offered a faint smile. “I still recommend leaving when you’re sufficiently healed.” Then abruptly, “Have you started on the book yet?”

Stretch latched onto the new topic gratefully, more than ready to stuff the soul crap into the back of his mind for about the next ten years, please and thank you. Better to wallow in a little sheepish guilt as he admitted, “uh, not yet, was kinda tired yesterday.”

He expected a dressing down, and not in the sexy way, but Edge only nodded. “I’m not surprised. Don’t put it off too long.” He let go of Stretch’s hand, barely giving him time to mourn as he stood and plucked the check from the table. “I need to get going, lunch is on me.” He nodded at Stretch’s plate. “Finish your pie.”

“thanks,” Stretch grumbled, but he took a bite. Even half-mangled it was delicious, tartly sweet, and he focused on finishing his pie and nothing else. Even watching Edge leave wasn’t doing it for him right now and maybe he’d regret not taking in the view later, but for right now, he didn’t want to think about anything at all. 

He was scraping up the last berry-stained crumbs when a sudden shout made the entire diner jerk, everyone turning towards the door.

“You there!” Stretch blinked at the tall, stocky Human tromping towards him, pointing an accusing finger his way. He was in a uniform, his eyes concealed behind mirrored sunglasses, and there was a star pinned to his chest, shiny gold and emblazoned with the word, ‘Sheriff’. Not to mention the gun belt strapped around his broad middle. He came to a stop right next to Stretch’s table, fists propped up on his hips as he demanded, “You causin’ trouble here in my town?”

Stretch could only look up at him wide-socketed, with the taste of berries still sharp on his suddenly dry tongue. 

Well, shit. Where was the rescue when he really needed one?

* * *

tbc


	9. Addressing the Public

* * *

For his first day off from the grocery, today sure seemed like it was determined to make its mark so he couldn’t possibly forget it. At this point, it was about burned into Stretch’s memory, for sure.

First there was Doris who added her clues into his trick r treat bucket, then the town assholes showed up for their serial killer practice. Then, as a treat, he got to have the double punch of a lunch with Edge, a sweet and sour mixture of possibly flirtatious revelations coupled to an unwanted chat about his own traumas, served warm over some delicious pie. 

Now it looked like he was about to get a sequel to the Assholes: Part Deux, the Assholes’ Revenge, in the form of a sheriff filled with blustering indignation and accusations, and all Stretch had was a mouthful of pie to defend himself. Worse, his only witness had already paid the bill and left. 

Stretch swallowed his last bite, chasing it down with water when it tried to stick in the back of his throat as he went over possibilities. He could try to explain the situation, but if there was one thing he’d learned from living in Ebott, it was that if a Monster was talking to the cops, it was best to keep it short, sweet, and polite. Don’t try to explain or admit to shit, ‘cause they’d be more than happy to add another line to the list of things to harass you about. 

Seriously, he missed being able to shortcut, this whole facing trouble head-on thing wasn’t for him. 

The sheriff huffed again, loudly, and it fluffed up his broad mustache like a human-shaped walrus. He propped fists about the size of a baby’s head on his broad hips and growled out, “So? Is that it? You’re here startin’ some trouble in my peaceful little town?”

Stretch looked up into those mirrored sunglasses. If they were standing, Stretch would probably have a couple inches on the guy, but sitting here in the booth the sheriff loomed over him ominously, his own distorted reflection showing back his nervous face.

“no, sir,” Stretch said politely. Stick with the basic, that was good for a start, and hopefully Red would be willing to bail him out if that became necessary. At least Red wouldn’t have far to go. 

The rest of the diner was staring, not a single fork was engaged as they watched the latest scene in the town drama unfold. Not that he blamed them, this was probably about the most action they’d seen in weeks, but he did sort of wish someone would be a little concerned rather than eagerly interested. Waiting to see if maybe the local sheriff was gonna slap on some cuffs so they could whip out their phones for a nice tiktok video while he was getting read his rights? 

“No?” the sheriff demanded. His sunglasses reflected the overhead light, making Stretch wince back. “I heard you were out there riling up the corn yesterday. And today you were playing dog days with the doggerel boys?” 

That was true, except how it wasn’t, and a trickle of sweat was winding its way down Stretch’s spine despite the air conditioning. Before he could wheeze out another ‘no sir’ or any other answer at all, a sudden, booming laugh filled the entire diner, loud enough to echo from the greasy grill before rolling back out to rattle the windows. The sheriff hooked his thumbs into a belt with a buckle so big that could probably double as a satellite dish, guffawing loudly, “Aw, you ain’t in any trouble, I’m just joshing ya, boy!”

Oh. Ohhhh, this was only a little goodnatured small-town hazing, that he could deal with, if he managed to swallow his quivering soul back down where it belonged. Stretch tried on a smile to match the sheriff’s ongoing laughter and found that it fit pretty well, all things considered. 

“can’t be joshing, my name is stretch,” Stretch said with cautious humor. “but i guess stretching me would be an entirely different meaning. think they gave that one up in the middle ages.”

The sheriff bellowed out another laugh that practically shook the silverware, actually bending over to give his knee a loud slap. Around them rose other chuckles around mouthfuls of pie and how strange was it that he could feel the difference between people laughing _at_ him and laughing _with_ him. There was a certain fondness in that laughter, in the warm expressions coming his way from townsfolk that he sort of knew; these were people who’d bought their toilet paper and fresh apples from him on any given day, who’d give him waves and smiles when he passed them on the sidewalk and maybe it was an unusual form of kindness, but their humor still made unexpected tears prick in his sockets. 

Stretch grabbed his napkin and dabbed hastily at his face as if he were wiping away sweat before anyone could see and misunderstand. How could he explain to them that in all his life, he’d never felt such a wash of overwhelming fondness from anyone except maybe his own brother. 

(Not even from the person who’d told him so often and so tenderly that he loved him…until he didn’t, fucking hell, he wasn’t thinking about that right now, he _wasn’t_.)

The sheriff was obviously no fool and already his expression was softening into remorse, maybe coming up with an apology that Stretch desperately did not want, not for this. Rescue came almost too late and from an entirely unexpected source. Granny Collemore was so short Stretch could only see her steel-gray hair piled up in a messy bun over the top of the booth as she approached, but he heard her hollering well enough. 

“Buford, you let that poor boy alone!” There was a smacking sound of a cane hitting flesh and Stretch couldn’t see where the blow struck, but the sheriff, Buford, let out a yelp, hopping on one foot as he frantically rubbed his shin.

“Sam Hill, granny, I was only playin!” he grumbled. He pulled up the leg of his trousers to examine his granny-inflicted wound. There was a reddened welt on the skin, already shading to purple.

“You hush yourself,” Granny huffed, “I’m half-past give-a-shit today and you may be the sheriff in these parts, but you ain’t too old for a hiding!” Granny shuffled into view, her cane hooked over one arm. She reached out with her wrinkled hands and Stretch leaned over obediently to let her to cup his face gently in her palms as she clucked with concern. “Does he look like he’s up for your shenanigans?” she groused loudly, “‘specially since this feller is working over at the grocery with Red, bless his heart.”

“That a fact?” Buford pushed his hat up and offered a crooked smile. “Must be a brave soul, then. Well, you tell that sonavabitch I’m gunning for him this Sunday. He better be there with silver bells on and you tell him that whatever aces are up his sleeves, better make sure they ain’t spades, ‘cause that’s the reverend’s favorite cheat.”

“i’ll do that,” Stretch agreed, a touch bewildered. Hell, he’d thought Red was joking when he said the sheriff was his poker buddy. 

That sounded like an exit line, it was starting to look like Stretch was going to make it out of here unscathed, and he might have if Granny hadn’t put in, happily, “Anyhoo, Buford, you just miss seeing Edge. He was here sharing a slice of pie with our new fella.”

Dark eyebrows rose up over those mirrored lenses and Buford hooted a laugh, “Oho, that how it is. On a date with our Edge, were ya.”

Great, that was exactly what he didn’t want getting back to Red. Enjoying a little flirting was one thing, but not if it started the wheels of the gossip train turning. With his luck, it would crash right into a dumpster fire. “uh, no, no dates, just pie.” 

He did not expect Buford to suddenly look a little offended, those eyebrows drawing down into a frown behind his glasses. “Why in the Sam Hill not? Ain’t he your type?”

“Uh.” Stretch looked around a little wildly, away from Granny and Buford to see the rest of the diner was still watching them with interest. No, not just interest, there was an awful lot of sly looks there and whispering behind hands, along with soft expressions and doe-eyes… 

Oh. Oh, shit, it was worse than he thought. They were _invested,_ everyone in this diner was taking sides and they were choosing the romance option, this was bad, this sort of thing was infectious and the last thing he needed right now was an entire town of matchmakers trying to hook him up with the local hottie. It was like an unsolved Agatha Christie took a sudden, sideways turn into a Hallmark Gyftmas movie.

Buford and the rest of the diner were all waiting for him to explain why he and Edge weren’t dating and Stretch was sitting here, fumbling around at the pass.

“we’re not dating, we’re just—” Stretch coughed awkwardly, hesitating. The truth was ‘it’s complicated’ was probably most accurate, although ‘barely met acquaintances’ was a close second, or even the generic, ‘he’s my boss’s baby bro whose ass i am definitely not staring whenever i see him but also his smile is really nice and—' “—friends,” Stretch finished, lamely. 

Buford nodded like he’d offered not a nugget of wisdom, but an entire ten-piece with the tangy sauce. The light reflected in his mirrored gaze as he said, kindly, “That ain’t a bad thing.”

Relieved, Stretch let out an unsteady laugh, “kinda surprised you don't think i'm a cousin or something.”

Buford snorted loudly at that, “Son, you boys don't look a thing alike.”

And that there was another surprise to add to his daily total. In Ebott, Stretch was constantly getting mistaken for Papyrus or Sans, even his own brother once or twice. Half the time, people either didn’t know his name or didn’t care to, and Backwater was a strange place, no question, but that sure didn’t mean it was bad. 

Buford didn’t seem to notice his shock as he went on, “Now there’s a boy who could use some en-ter-tainment. Works too hard, damned if he don’t.”

Now that was a clue looking him right in the face and Stretch took the Velma leap and pounced on it, trying for a little discreet nonchalance, “yeah? what does he work so hard at?”

A shame Buford seemed to be pretty quick on the draw. He gave Stretch a shrewd look, “He ain’t told you?”

“no, sir,” Stretch sighed glumly. Seriously, he was the worst Velma ever.

Buford went ahead and poured salt into the open wound with another short laugh, “Naw, I’ll ain’t stepping in that cow pie. I’ll let him talk to ya about that. But see if you can’t get him to slow down for another--” Buford gave him a sly wink and actually hooked his thick fingers into air quotes, “’friend date’, wontcha?” 

Then he grunted as Granny Collemore jammed her elbow into his soft gut, tutting loudly, “You never did shake the ants outta your pants did you, Buford! Let those boys alone, they'll go at their own pace.” To Stretch she offered sunny, toothless grin, “Come on, and walk an old lady out.”

“yes, ma’am,” Stretch said. Hey, he might be an idiot, but he was no fool. He stood up, ready to make his getaway, halted only briefly by Buford snatching up his hand and giving it an enthusiastic shake, though his grip was gentle on the delicate bones.

“Welcome to town, Stretch,” Buford told him. For once he was completely serious as he said, low, “and don’t you worry about those boys.” He tapped the side of his nose, his broad finger reflected in his sunglasses. “I know what happened, it’ll be taken care of.”

“i appreciate that,” Stretch said, and he meant it. He turned and followed after Granny, only dodging ahead to hold up the door so she could shuffle out.

“Thank you, sonny,” Granny huffed as she made her slow way through the door. “These old bones ain’t as spry as yours. You should head on home now, there's a storm a’comin'."

Stretch looked up into the cloudless sky in confusion, greeted by endless blue. 

“Oh, you can trust me," Granny grimaced and rubbed at her hip, "these joints don't lie."

“i will,” Stretch agreed. After his lesson with the corn, he was taking the townsfolk at their word and if granny said a storm was heading this way, he expected to see clouds blowing in any minute now.

He left Granny to make her way home and headed back to the store. Red only grunted when he came in, didn’t even look up from his book as he hooked an absent thumb towards his apartment. There was a bag sitting on the table and when Stretch looked inside, there was a sandwich neatly covered in plastic wrap, a bag of chisps, and a bottle of juice. He was still full up on pie, but it would make for a nice, simple dinner, good thing he had Red up there looking after him. Maybe he should suggest to Red that he get a tattoo, a nice heart engraved on his arm with ‘Mom’ in the middle, since now he had one. 

Stretch took the bag upstairs with him and opened the window. He took a moment to breathe in the already cooling air, a herald to the coming storm. 

The book was sitting where he’d left it last night when he’d dragged himself off Red’s sofa, limbs spaghettied from sleep and his mind noodly mush. He’d brought the book along without even thinking about it and now the hardcover seemed to mock him with the necessary knowledge hidden somewhere within those pages. 

Welp, there was only one way he was gonna get the info out of it and that didn’t mean beating it against his skull until the words shook out. He picked it up and settled to sit cross-legged on the bed, bracing himself for what might well be hours of boredom as he turned it to the first page. 

And frowned. At the top of the page was a family name, ‘Anderson’, along with the date, ‘1884’. There was a short selection of first names beneath it and next to each was what looked like a telephone number and an address. 

“what the hell?” Stretch muttered. He flipped to the second page and it was the same thing, only the name was ‘Armstrong’ and there were a lot more first names to go with it, someone was getting busy on the weekends, for sure.

Stretch flipped to the next page, and the next. All of them had the same thing, a last name, then a collection of firsts with a number and an address. Finally, he flipped back to the title page. There, right underneath the scrolling text declaring the book ‘An Informal History of Backwater’ was a tiny addition he hadn’t noticed before, stating in a small, stark font, ‘Municipal Directory.’

For a long moment, Stretch could only stare at it, until the words started floating in his sight. Laughter bubbled up suddenly, fizzing in him like a shaken soda. "sonofabitch," Stretch burst out, snickering madly. The damn thing was a glorified telephone book and Edge had flat-out given him his damned address already, practically gift-wrapped it! And he'd almost refused to take the damn thing! Guy wasn't only sexy, he had jokes and if he wasn't already a treat to the senses, that would have upgraded him to a bone-ified snack. 

Address had to be in here, all Stretch needed to do was find it. The book was bigger than he would’ve thought from a small town, but from the look of it, they never took anyone out, only kept adding on. Occasionally next to a name he saw an abbreviated ‘dec.,’ so maybe this was a bit of town history, after all, kind of a family tree, anyway.

It still took him awhile to find their names, flipping through the book. The names were alphabetized, but that didn’t help much when the family he was looking for didn’t have a last name. Finally, under the surname ‘Skeleton’, he found them. 

“should’ve tried that to begin with,” Stretch muttered. He read the entry, following along with his finger, only to pause in confusion when it came to the date recorded neatly by their names. It listed them as arriving in town over a decade ago and if that was when they came to Backwater, then whoever printed this needed to proofread a little better, because that was impossible. Monsters had only been on the surface for a couple years, not quite three now, so it had to be a mistake. 

Except, Edge struck him as the kind of guy who was pedantic enough that there was no way he wouldn’t bitch until it was fixed; anyone who ate their pie like it was a military maneuver wouldn’t be able to stand such an egregious error. And he’d made sure to give Stretch the book, so he damn well knew he’d be seeing this. So what the hell did all this mean? 

What did any of this mean?

Stretch sank back against the wall behind him, tipping his head up so he could stare at the ceiling. There was a crack in the plaster in one the corner, spidering off into a shape like a lightning bolt and that was exactly what Stretch felt like he’d been struck with. 

What the hell _was_ this place? Some kind of fairytale, where one day in town was a week on the outside? If he hopped on another bus and made his way to the next town over, would the papers tell him it was next Tuesday or the next century?

It was enough to inspire him to check his messages. Stretch fumbled for his phone, opening the text app for the first time in days. The amount of alerts made him wince but it was the last message that roused that endless ache in his soul back up to true pain. 

_I understand that you’re hurting, brother. You don’t have to tell me where you are. You don’t even have to call. All I ask is you send me a message every once in a while to let me know you’re all right. Please._

Stretch closed his sockets and swallowed against the sudden knot in his throat. Before he could rethink it, he typed a hasty, _i’m all right_ and sent it, then lurched over to shove his phone into the nightstand drawer, slamming it shut. 

Even so, he couldn’t help listening, straining to hear but there was no vibrating buzz, nothing to indicate a return message. 

Good enough. 

Stretch took a deep, shaky breath, then dragged the book back over and studied the entry again. Red’s address was the store, no surprises there, but Edge was listed under 637 Wood’s End Drive.

Wood’s End. Seriously?

Welp, it was one mystery solved, anyway, even if he’d skipped the meddling kids part. Now all he needed was to plan a field trip. 

A sudden flash of lightning lit the room, putting the fake bolt on his ceiling to bitter shame and the sky outside seemed to burst, rain pouring down and pelting through his open window. Stretch scrambled over to slam it closed, shaking away the damp on his hands. All the sunshine from earlier was gone, the sky darkened into angry, swirling storm clouds as the downpour drenched the parched earth. 

Yeah, field trip was postponed on account of rain, but not for long. He’d get there and maybe once he showed up on Edge’s doorstep, he’d finally get some real answers.

For now, though, all Stretch wanted was a towel.

* * *

tbc


	10. No Place Like Home

* * *

It was still night when Stretch woke, blinking into the dark of his room with the distortion of his dreams slowly fading into unremembered nothingness.

Overhead, the rain was still drumming down on the roof and normally he’d find that a soothing cadence. Back when he’d still lived under the mountain, he’d loved to take naps in Waterfall. Laying in caves that were off the beaten path and the whispers of the echo flowers were only mirrored murmurs of the falling water, lulling him to sleep. 

A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the room and he heard it again. There. What was that? 

He’d think it was the wind howling if it weren’t for the heavy rain. It beat at the windows, shuddering over the house, but whatever that was, it was coming from something else outside. Something with a little more life than the storm, something lost or maybe hurt, maybe even a person shouting for help and it would take someone with a soul a hell of a lot more damaged than his to ignore it in favor of rolling over to go back to sleep. 

Stretch pulled on his clothes and went downstairs, taking care to hop the squeaky third step. He didn’t think Red would hear it through this storm, but why take the chance. There was only a dim overhead light on in the store, casting the shelves in shadows, making even the groceries seem otherworldly and strange. Off the side of the storefront was a long hallway that led to a sort of mudroom and a door to the outside. He tried the light switch on the wall by the door and it did nothing. The outer light was probably burned out, exactly his kind of luck. 

Ah, well, the thing about having eye lights meant slightly better night vision. May as well put it to good use. 

He opened the door and stepped out onto the small porch. On this side of the building, it was nothing more than a few stairs to get a person to the ground. Not much point for anything else; there wasn’t anything out here, the store was at the end of town and from here, a person could walk straight out into the woods to whatever lay beyond. The narrow roof covering the porch was next to useless in the sheeting rain, Stretch was drenched to the bones barely two steps out. 

Yeah, whatever +bonuses he got to night sight were canceled out by the downpour. It was like the sky had been storing the rain the heavens to fuck with them with this storm in particular, and the world in front of him was blacker than midnight on the moon.

“hello?” Stretch called. He wondered if his voice was even penetrating through the sheeting rain, “is anyone out there?”

Maybe someone was out there to hear him. Through the storm that sound came again like a mournful dirge. If it was only the wind it was moaning like something alive, and scarecrows were one thing but Stretch was drawing the line at sentient weather patterns. 

He stepped off the stairs, trying to see through the downfall. A strobe-light flash of lightning briefly blinded him and left him blinking away phantom outlines, and as his vision cleared, he saw it. Deep lanternlights of crimson cutting through the rain and darkness, like a pair of eyes watching him.

What the fuck--?

Stretch stumbled back automatically. His feet slipped out from under him and he splashed down on his ass into the growing muddy puddles. He sputtered, trying to wipe away the dirty water. The rain cleared it faster than his drenched shirtsleeve could and he blinked through the water dripping in his sockets, looking around wildly. 

Whatever he thought he’d seen was gone, there was nothing out there but the dark—wait. The thundering fall of water around him took on another note, something was splashing through the puddles, something big and moving fast. Stretch rolled to his hands and knees, trying to scramble to his feet, okay, this was a serious nope, if someone was in trouble out here, they were gonna have to wait until sunrise. 

The once-hardpacked ground seemed to have nearly dissolved in the rain and his hands squelched in the thick mud as he tried to get to his feet. Whatever it was, it was getting closer and panic was starting to well in him, filling his mental rain barrel to overflowing. He needed to get up, to get inside, needed to move _now,_ and it was too late. Stretch cried out fearfully, his voice lost in the din of the rain and it was finally upon him, paws jolting against his chest as he was nearly sent sprawling back into the mud and, fuck, it was _on_ him, it was…licking his face?

Stretch stared up to see that the terrifying night creature wriggling excitedly on top of him was the dog, the same dog he’d rescued this afternoon. It strained to get closer to him, lapping frantically at his skull and whether it was simple delight at seeing him or because he tasted like the pup’s favorite snack, Stretch couldn’t say. 

Weak with relief, Stretch let out a long, damp breath. "hey, boy." He managed an unsteady laugh as he reached to pet the sopping fur. The dog leaned heavily into his hand, its tail whipped enthusiastically enough to leave bruises. “you scared the jigglies off me.” 

The dog didn’t seem to care much about giving poor skeletons the willies in the middle of the damn night. It only kept trying to lick him and Stretch could barely hold off its eagerness as he straggled his way back to his feet. 

“welp, i’ve had just about enough of being wet for the night, it’s a lot less fun alone and you don’t count. see ya later, pal—” he broke off as the dog sudden began to growl low in its throat. Stretch slowly held up both his hands like it was a stickup from the world’s shortest furriest bank robber, “woah, hey, buddy, i’m on your side, remember?”

But the dog wasn’t looking at him. It was looking back into the darkness it had come from, drenched fur standing up on his back as it growled at the nothingness. It lowered its head, hunching down as if preparing to lunge. 

Maybe something really was out there, something that wasn’t as simple as a stray mutt. 

He couldn't see anything between the lightning flashes, but a kind of awareness was prickling its way up his spine, preternatural instinct lighting up whatever primitive warning system that he still possessed. 

His life had always been a fairly simple one, all things considered, but the past few days he’d seen enigmatic things that had yet to be explained, and maybe his fear was incorrect, like with Edgar Allen, but he’d rather be irrational than dust, superstitious terror or not. 

The dog suddenly barked furiously at the darkness, spraying saliva, and real fear settled into Stretch soul, sinking down to his feet the way cold water did in the ocean. Fuck this, he was trusting the dog.

"c'mon, boy, let's get inside,” Stretch said. He backed his way to the door, nearly tripping up the steps, and the dog barked a moment longer, strident and fierce, before it turned with a yelp and ran after him. Stretch fumbled for the doorknob, half-expecting something to leap from the shadows to close sharp teeth around his cervical vertebra. Instead, the door opened under his groping hand and he nearly fell inside, wet shoes slip-sliding on the tiles as he scrambled in, slamming the door behind him. 

He stood there, watering dripping off him to puddle on the floor while the dog sat at his soaked shoes and looked up at him worshipfully, tongue lolling as it panted. Its tail thumped on the floor, sending more water to spatter everywhere. 

Now that he was inside, Stretch was starting to feel less like an asshole and more like a whole ass. “stupid,” he muttered, crouching down to struggle with his wet laces. He had to fend off the dog’s renewed happy licking as he worked his shoes off, silently taking in the damages. This was a mudroom, sure, but he didn’t think it was supposed to be literal and when the dog stepped away from him, realization came a fraction too late.

“wait--!” Stretch yelped, lunging to grab it before it could shake. Too late, a spray of water spattered the room while the pooch played the part of furry sprinkler. Stretch sat mutely as his new coating of muddy water dripped from his face. 

Fuck, Red was gonna kill him and sprinkle his dust in the cornfield, he just knew it. 

“damn it,” he sighed. He struggled back to his feet, trying to decide if it would be better to get a mop first or towels, or if he should simply accept his upcoming demise, when he happened to glance at the window panel in the doorway. 

Burning crimson stared back at him through the thin glass. 

Stretch fell back with a shriek, right into the rack of shoes by the door, sending both it and himself to the floor with a loud clatter. He didn’t pause, skittering back in a frantic crab-crawl, his bare feet sliding on the wet tile as he looked back out that window, and saw…nothing. 

The dog took advantage of his newly prone position to climb on his chest and lick at his face again eagerly. It gave no sign of having sensed something outside and Stretch sagged down to the floor, giving in and letting the dog taste its fill. 

“my mind is playing tricks on me,” Stretch said aloud, laughing a little. It sounded too shrill, nervous, and he sputtered when the dog took that as an invitation to lick into his mouth. Spitting, Stretch sputtered out, “stop that, you shit!” 

Before he could shove the delighted dog away, footsteps interrupted him, along with a sleep-crabbed voice loudly drowning out the rain. “…th’ fuck is going on out here?” 

The overhead light came on with blinding ferocity and Stretch winced, haloes blotting out his vision. In the doorway was Red, leaning on his cane with one hand and the other scratching absently at his pajama-clad backside. He halted, his sockets going wide as he took in the carnage of the room, the drenched floor, Stretch lying in pile of shoes next to the overturned rack with the dog still wagging happily on his chest, and a liberal coating of mud freckled over all of it. 

“uh, i can explain?” Stretch said weakly. He really wasn’t sure if he could. The overworked wheels in his mind were already straining for a credible story, because the truth at this point made him sound like an idiot or someone who would be more at home in a Stephen King novel. 

Red’s mouth worked silently for a long moment, then, slowly, “that’s a dog.”

“um. yeah. it is.” Guess that truth wasn’t gonna change no matter what he came up with. Said dog paused in its attempt to gleefully smother Stretch’s face in slobber to look at Red, changing tactics to try beating him to death, its hopefully wagging tail smacking him in the skull.

Red’s scowl deepened and he licked his teeth, the tip of his tongue digging into the crevice by the gold one. “don’t need any fucking annoying dog around here. i already adopted you.”

Relief surged, soothingly sweet, and yeah, he hadn’t really been afraid Red was going to kick him out over the mess except for how he totally was, and there was a teeny, panicked thought in the back of his mind that had been working diligently to figure out where he was gonna go in the dead of the stormy night. Adopted him sounded a lot better than working for him, it sounded more stable, more _permanent,_ and he almost, almost believed it. 

Stretch shoved all that baggage out of the way to deal with probably never. “yeah, i get that. i do, but. i couldn’t leave it outside. it’s raining.”

“c’n see that,” Red looked down at the spreading puddle on the floor intermixed with mingled muddy sneaker-and-dog prints. He sighed and rubbed a knuckle between his sockets as if a headache was taking root there, ready to sprout into a full blooming migraine. “c’mon. bring the mutt.”

Stretch grabbed up the dog and if the force of his will could’ve kept him from dripping on the floor, he would have dried up like the Sahara in an instant. As it was, he tried to keep the trail at a minimum, carrying the squirming dog back to Red’s apartment. 

“stay,” Red ordered when they hit his living room and Stretch obeyed like he was the one with a tail. Probably better. 

Red came back with an armload of old blankets, half of them dragging on the floor behind him. He shoved them at Stretch and limped back off. With the raggediest one, Stretch dried the dog or tried to, anyway. It was wagging so furiously its whole body wriggled, complicating things

“woah, boy, down!” Stretch laughed as it licked his face furiously. At least he was able to confirm it was boy. Houseful of guys, that was them. 

From the kitchen, the microwave beeped. Not long after, Red shuffled back out with a mug in hand. He held it while Stretch gave drying himself off a shot and when he was a few levels down from dripping into mostly damp, Red held out the mug. Marshmallows bobbled on a miniature lake of cocoa and Stretch took it gratefully, sipping it with a barely suppressed moan. Sure took the edge (heh) off the chill from his damp clothes. After days of sweltering, being cold was almost a novel experience. Almost. 

Red disappeared again and returned with a plate. The gooey cinnamon buns were still steaming and Stretch barely restrained himself from snatching one up like Gollum’s taller twin, the dual sweetness of cocoa and bun almost cramping his tongue with deliciousness. He kept his crack about Red’s nice buns to himself and also managed not to call him a cinna-mom, all the better to keep the treats coming. 

Red munched on one of his own since midnight snacks tasted better when they were shared. Through a mouthful of stickiness, Red mumbled out a warning, “dog can stay for the night only.”

The dog whined softly, looking up at Red, or rather, probably the bun, with a mournful, longing gaze.

“just for the night,” Stretch agreed. And discreetly made no comment about Red giving the pup a piece of sticky bun. Seemed like the compulsion to mom was inescapable. 

“he can stay here in the kitchen,” Red went on, and he definitely wasn’t scratching behind the dog’s ears to tail-thumping delight. “don’t need him tracking mud around, neither.”

“deal.” Stretch downed the last of his cocoa and ate his last bite of cinnamon bun. The implication was that the bargain was struck, the terms were agreed upon, and now it was time for all good skeletons and dogs to hit the hay. Hay. That was a good reminder and Stretch hesitated, dragging up his sagging blanket over his head like a hood. “red?”

“yeah, kid?” 

“is there anyone else…anything else…in town like edgar allen.”

Red squinted at him suspiciously. “like him how?”

“i dunno,” Stretch shrugged awkwardly, picking at the folds of the blanket. “i just…when i was outside, thought i saw someone in the rain. maybe someone…different.” Someone, something, he didn’t know, but if his mind was playing tricks on him, it should go play Vegas because it had a hell of a magic show. 

“eh, the rain casts funny shadows in the moonlight,” Red said dismissively.

“shadows?” Stretch repeated, incredulously. In the middle of a rainstorm in the middle of the night? He wasn’t a weatherman, hell, he didn’t even own an umbrella, and he might owe Red a pound of flesh but that didn’t make so much as an ounce of sense. Before he could protest, as if summoned, the clouds parted and through the large picture window a moonbeam streamed inside to fill the room to the brim with pale, eerie light.

Stretch crawled over to the window to stare at the moon in despair. Only mostly full, it was closer to an oval than a circle and its pale face gave him no answers, keeping its secrets. 

He nearly flinched as bony knuckles scraped over his skull in a gentle sort of noogie.

Red told him, kindly gruff, “go get some sleep, kid.”

“yeah, sure,” Stretch mumbled. Suddenly, he was exhausted, his interrupted rest deciding then and there that the hiatus was over. He gave the dog’s still-damp fur a last pat and headed back upstairs, and only took the time to make sure his curtains were pulled before he flopped into bed, uncaring that he stunk of wet dog and mud. 

If creepy floating eyes wanted to spy on him while he was sleeping, they’d have to come through the door. 

The next morning when he went downstairs to start his shift, chipper as a chickadee, (okay, not really but pooped as a panda didn’t have the same verve) and freshly showered, the memories of the night before were sleep-distant. His fears while standing in the falling rain already mostly forgotten and dismissed. Probably was his imagination or it could be the storm caused it, like some kind of Saint Elmo’s fire or ball lightning. Could be. 

Anyway, even if it wasn’t, there was no law that said he had to think about it in the bright light of day, now was there?

So, Stretch tossed the memory into the fuhgeddaboudit basket in his brain box and headed down to open the store. To his surprise, Red was already there, 

“am i late?” Stretch asked, uncertainly, already digging for his phone to check the time.

“nah,” Red didn’t even look up from his book; from the cover it was probably titled ‘The Sweaty Swashbuckler’ or something equally pirate-related, seemed like it was all about the buccaneers for Red this week, no treble. “today is the day my bro brings in the fresh baked goods from the farm. he always stops in at the ass-crack a’ dawn.”

To emphasis his point, he reached out blindly to nudge a square of danish laid out on a paper napkin in Stretch’s direction, licking a dab of icing from his finger before turning the page.

Stretch picked it up cautiously and took a bite, groaning as the fresh taste of strawberries burst over his tongue. He managed not to spit crumbs as he mumbled, “is that where you get the muffins and the cinnamon buns?”

“yep. s’where mama’s gets those pies of theirs, too.”

“really?” Stretch stopped chewing and gave Red a narrow look, “edge told me his roommate sent him into town yesterday to get pie from mama’s. said that was the only place that would do.”

“did he?” Red only seemed idly amused. “huh. how about that.”

“aw, come on,” Stretch whined, “don’t do that.”

“do what?” Innocent on Red’s face was about as believable as a lion claiming to be vegan. 

“that thing where you know what’s going on, but you don’t tell me because everyone in this damn town needs to be oooooooh, mysterious!” Stretch flailed his hands in a demonstration of the vibes. 

“then i guess you need to think about why my bro would come to town for pie instead of walking into his own kitchen.” He hopped off the stool with a grunt, book in one hand and his cane in the other. “g’wan, take over, i’ll be back this afternoon.”

“yeah, yeah,” Stretch started to reach for his apron and froze. Hidden behind the counter, curled up with its tail over its muzzle and snoring softly, was the dog. 

Red followed the direction of his gaze and warned, “not a word or out he goes.”

”yes, sir,” Stretch said, snapping a sloppy salute. Red shuffled off in the direction of his apartment and Stretch focused on getting to work, which meant he was mostly standing around and thinking about what Red said. 

Why would Edge come to town for pie when he was the one who made it? Possible answers abounded and the only way to find out which one it was, was to ask, and that meant heading out to 637 Wood’s End Drive. 

Stretch grabbed the broom and started sweeping, making his way around the dog even as he sighed inwardly. There might’ve been no place like home for Dorothy, but Stretch was starting to feel like he’d found a new, strange neighborhood in downtown Oz.

* * *

tbc


	11. Unconventional Wisdom

* * *

The dog spent all morning napping behind the counter, not rising for broom bristles nudging him nor Stretch stepping over him awkwardly so he could grab a few boxes from the top shelf to fill up the front racks. He did snore loud enough to be heard over the radio, but eh, so did Red so Stretch was used to it. 

It wasn’t until the jangling cowbell over the door heralded the arrival of a group of kids that the pup gave up on his snoring and wandering out to inspect the new arrivals, tail already happily wagging. Predictably, the kiddos were enamored of their newest employee, although guard dog might be overstating things a bit. Okay, maybe a lot; it looked like Red hadn’t been able to get back to sleep last night because the once-filthy dog with a mess of tangled fur was now freshly washed and brushed, and he smelled a lot like the shower gel from Red’s bathroom. Cleaned up, he was a handsome dog, looking as fluffy as an enormous toasted marshmallow. Not exactly threatening, fluffykins here was probably gonna spend most of his shift on moral support duty. 

The little girl who was currently the main recipient of the dog’s enthusiastic face licking giggled and asked, “What’s his name?”

“uh.” That gave Stretch a pause. He shrugged. “doesn’t have a name yet, i’ll have to ask red what he thinks.”

“Should name him Rover,” one boy put in helpfully. 

Another boy chimed in, “Or Bingo!”

“Cheeseburger!” A little gal firmly declared as though no other name would do and Stretch couldn’t help laughing. 

“is that a name suggestion or a lunch request?” he teased. All the kids giggled, including the one who’d suggested the name and Stretch gave one of her pigtails a gentle tug. “tell you what, here.” He pulled out a pad of paper from under the counter, flipped past the pages filled with inventory lists and cribbage scores to a blank one and wrote carefully at the top, ‘Name Our Dog’. He set it in one corner of the counter triumphantly, “there! now anyone can suggest a name and red can choose the best one.”

All the kids seemed in agreement that this was the best course of action, each taking a turn to scribble their suggestion on the sheet. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if ‘Cheeseburger’ was at the top of Red’s picks. 

The kids eventually abandoned the dog and started a round of intense negotiations over what penny treats to buy today. Stretch left them to it, settling to sit on the stool to wait for them to bring up their selections to the register. His mind wandered idly back to newest side quest: getting to 637 Wood’s End Drive.

He’d already tried to look the address up on his phone’s GPS and wasn’t too surprised to see that it didn’t come up, naw, that would be too easy. So, first was figuring out how to get there and second would be figuring out how to get there. Not like he had a car and somehow, he doubted that Backwater had a thriving Uber economy. Maybe he could hitch a lift with someone? People were always coming into town in those big ol’ pickup trucks and the folks around here were pretty friendly, plus Edge seemed to be pretty well known. They all probably knew exactly where Edge lived and stopped by for pie and tea all the time. Surely someone would be delighted to help out, particularly if they were one of the lookie-loos from Mama’s who wanted to see Stretch and Edge on another man date, thank-you-but-no-thank-you.

That would probably be the easiest way to go about it, but Stretch found he was strangely reluctant to take that route. It felt a little like cheating, considering the roundabout way Edge went about handed out his address. 

Anyway, if he’d wanted to go down that path, he could’ve simply asked Red days ago, but that right there was an entirely different can of worms that he didn’t want to share with any of the early birds. Red never forbade him from hanging out with Edge, but he’d been pretty clear time and again that he wasn’t too keen on it, either. Might be best if he kept any mentions of Edge to a minimum unless Red brought him up first. 

He’d just figure it out himself, thanks, and he wasn’t any puzzle master, not like his bro was, but he had a little pride buried around here somewhere. Edge set him a challenge, damn it, and he was gonna see it through. 

His absent gaze strayed down to the pile of bicycles outside the store, kid-sized, sure, but hey, wait a second—

“hey, guys,” Stretch said slowly, and the debate on whether to get two packs of everlasting gobstoppers or three paused as a half-dozen heads perked up like prairie dogs from a sugary plain. “if i wanted to buy a bicycle around here, where would i go?”

Heads ducked down again in a hastily whispered conversation, then the spokeskid popped up again and said, decisively, “Try over at the thrift shop. Miss Maggie always has old bikes for sale.”

“thanks.” He should’ve known. The only other option right in town was the tractor supply shop and while driving up on a John Deere would make a hell of an impression, it was probably well out of his price range. The kids crowded over with their handfuls of spoils and Stretch dutifully rang them up and if he tossed in a dime of his own to cover them, eh, wasn’t like they’d ever know. He handed over a paper sack of treats to a chorus of thank yous and the divvying began before the kiddos even got out of the shop.

“Oh, Edgar Allen said to tell you hi!” One little girl called back to him. She was gone out of the door before he could even think of a reply, all of them clamoring onto their bikes, their faces chipmunk-cheeked with their spoils. 

Edgar Allen, shit, yeah, that was right. He’d pretty much been the first stop on this questline and Stretch’d been meaning to do something for him. He’d already rethought the magazine idea; what if it turned out that scarecrows couldn’t read, kinda insensitive there. He’d have to think of something, though, owing someone didn’t sit well with him even if that person didn’t qualify for traditionally alive. 

In the meantime, the dog, bereft of childish companionship, wandered back behind the counter and flopped down with a huff, sighing deeply. 

“yeah, go on and take a break,” Stretch told him, “you were working pretty hard there.” He stretched out a leg to pet the dog carefully with his foot and wasn’t too surprised that it didn’t care one bit about his shoe, only pliantly rolled over to give him better access to the belly region. 

Stretch obediently kept petting, hell, he obeyed better than the dog. But his thoughts were still on the upcoming journey to 637 Wood’s End Drive.

* * *

Red relieved him in the shop a little later than normal, looking a lot like he’d just hauled ass out of bed. His shirt was the same one as earlier, only with a fresh crop of wrinkles and his eye lights were still bleary with exhaustion. 

Almost, Stretch offered to stay later and let Red get a little more sleep, considering it was his fault Red got woken up in the middle of night. But the baleful glare Red sent his way was an unspoken warning that such an offer probably wasn’t gonna go over well. He kept his jaw shut tight and took the paper sandwich bag Red handed over before heading out the door. Time to get this side quest rolling, literally, he hoped. 

The few times he’d met Magdalen May he’d figured right from the get-go that she, like Red, was a partaker of the Sheriff’s son’s prize cannabis crop. Not only because of her dreamy demeanor but also whenever she came into the store, she was surrounded by an almost visible cloud of pot stank so strong that Stretch got a contact buzz while she was shopping through the meagre selection of yarn that Red kept. By the time she left, Stretch would have a craving for Cheetos so strong he’d be ready to start gnawing on his fingerbones for a cronch.

Stepping into the thrift shop was a little like hot boxing in a hoarder’s closet but Stretch soldiered on, squinting as his vision adjusted from the bright light of day to a dimness barely above attic-levels. He went past shelves of gewgaws and boxes of dusty records, old clothes hanging from racks that looked like they’d been commandeered from a lot of remaindered furniture. There were tables piled high with ancient radios, cameras, electronics that Stretch didn’t know the name of and surely didn’t work, existing only to be parted out by an amateur scientist or an electrician in search of cheap parts. Antique glass was set high on the shelves, catching dusty light and sending a kaleidoscope of color to scatter over the room, freckling it in greens, reds, and yellows.

The entire store radiated a glorious sort of chaos and if it weren’t for the fact that he already felt a little woozy, he would’ve stayed for a while and poked through some of the wares. Maybe even find a new book for Red buried in the nearby piles, see if he’d be willing branch out into cowboy romance for a change. 

He heading to the back of the shop where Miss Maggie was sitting in a rocking chair surrounded by boxes and shelves, knitting with flashing speed despite the foggy miasma hanging in the air. Her long white hair was smoothly braided and pinned up on top of her head, her weathered skin tanned dark and leathery. The weave of bright yellow yarn trailing from her needles was spread across her lap in an incongruous contrast to her dark, billowing skirt and the light sweater she wore against the chill of the air conditioning. 

“Hello, Papyrus,” she greeted him with the sort of rough, croaky voice made over the years by a thousand packs of Marlboros. She didn’t look up, her attention completely focused on her knit and purl. 

That gave him one hell of a pause. “how did you—” Stretch stopped. Great, he was in the soothsayer chapter and hadn’t even had time to prep. Yeah, okay, he didn’t really have any room in his life for another side quest, maybe let this one go. He didn’t actually want to know where she got her intel, not really, especially not with his head already spinning a little. He stuck his hands in his pockets to hide the way they wanted to curl into fists, rocking back and forth on his heels. “heya. i haven’t gone by papyrus in years, it’s stretch, thanks.”

“A wise choice,” Miss Maggie said. She sounded…different, somehow. He’d talked to her a few times now and strangely, today he couldn’t seem to place her accent. It wasn’t like the other townsfolk, all of them had a certain warm, down-homey charm, and usually so did she. Her words today were crisp, sharp-edged, nothing like the dreamy peace he was familiar with when she came into the store for coffee creamer and vanilla wafers. She glanced up at him over the wire rims of her glasses, her gaze as sharp as her tongue. “Names have power. A wise man keeps his true name to himself.”

“um. sure,” Stretch couldn’t stop himself from giving the door a longing glance. This was starting to seem like a bad idea, Miss Maggie seemed to be having a personality crisis, maybe he should come back after lunch. “that’s some very handy wisdom, but i’m here about a bike?”

She ignored that. “You have issues with names,” Miss Maggie told him. She kept knitting, needles flashing furiously in a rhythmic clickity-clack as steady as a metronome. “don’t you.”

“huh?” Stretch didn’t exactly have any flesh to get goosebumps with, but he felt a chill nonetheless, prickling maddeningly over his bones. His head was whirling, everything around him seemed to blur except the old woman in front of him. His tongue felt strangely thick as he whispered a question he didn’t want to ask, “i don’t…what do you mean?”

“Mmm, yes,” Miss Maggie sighed out, “so many names you’ve had and rejected. Had and left behind when you ran away, far, far away.” 

“stop,” Stretch said weakly. His soul was starting to pulse with aching intensity behind his breastbone. The room filled with an electric heaviness like a coming storm, the rich green smell filling the room suddenly nauseating. “please, don’t.”

“Brother, lover, yes, but never father, not even once.”

“shut up,” Stretch said thickly. Or tried to, the words seemed to clot and stick at the back of his throat, refusing to travel over his useless tongue. 

“And now you’re taking on new names,” she raised her head, and here in the dim, her eyes seemed like dark pools of pure blackness that reflected nothing of the flickering overhead lights. Her grin seemed unpleasant and wide, showing pale pink gums in an endless maw. “Is it friend you seek or something else, I wonder?”

As she turned towards him, her sleeve caught on the sugar bowl set on the table next to her, sending it tumbling to the floor. The burst of sound as it shattered pushed through his dazed distance like the snap of dry twig broken over a knee. Stretch jerked, blinking hard, and all the nebulous emotion in him surged forward, gathering and coalescing into real anger. He was starting to get sick of this shit, if everyone in town wanted to act like this place was Sleepy Hollow’s second-cousin, that was fine by him. He was happy to play along, but not if they were gonna keep sticking their shovels into his past to see what other skeletons they could dig up. 

“look, fuck you,” Stretch snapped out. He turned back to the door, tossing over his shoulder. “never mind, i’ll figure out something else!”

“Wait!” And he didn’t want to wait, he wanted to push on through the door, but his stubborn feet suddenly refused to move. Miss Maggie clumsily thrust aside her knitting, hardly noticing her teacup wobbling, spilling tea and leaves out into her saucer in a wild splash. That funky weird woman vibe abruptly eased and so did some of the stench in the air, flavored instead with lavender tea. She waddled over to him, her long skirt dragging on the floor. Even bent over with age, she was impressively tall, hardly shorter than Stretch was, and he was a mini-skyscraper to most Humans. She looked up at him, her eyes a watery, pale blue, surrounded by a sea of wrinkles, how could he ever have imagined they were anything else? 

Miss Maggie reached up to touch his cheekbone with fingers nearly as thin as his own.

“Oh, sweet child,” she said with mournful gentleness, and her voice was the smoky-sweet, grandmotherly one he recalled. “S’all right. Ain’t nothing wrong with setting aside a name you’ve outgrown, nor in taking on a new one.”

All his bright, burning anger collapsed inwardly, a card house with the center support removed, and hurt welled in him instead. He was crying, he realized distantly, tears stinging in his sockets, running down his cheekbones to gather on wetly his chin. He didn’t realize he was going to speak until he did, choking out, “it feels wrong.”

“How you feel and how things are don’t always match,” she agreed. She held out her arms, her gnarled hands open to him and Stretch leaned into them, burying his face in the soft, knitted shawl draped over her shoulder. She smelled like weed and lavender, a strange, exotic mixture. “i’ll get you all wet,” Stretch mumbled, muffled into the cloth. 

She petted his skull gently, “It’s all right, child. I’ll dry.”

He held on tightly for a long time and when she finally drew back, she lightly touched his forehead with the tips of two dry fingers. 

“You can get to his home through the forest,” she said, and it seemed to Stretch he could almost see it, clear as a picture someplace behind his sight. “Follow the exchange down about a mile, you’ll see a turnoff on the left. Don’t you stray from the path, you hear me, sonny?” Those pale, rheumy eyes searched his face for understanding. “Easy to get lost out there.”

“i won’t.” 

“Good.” She let him go and shuffled back to her chair to picked up her knitting again. “Now, you mentioned something about a bike.”

For a moment, Stretch stood there, practically wobbling on his feet. He felt like he’d woken up from an unexpected nap, still floating in between the sleeping and waking worlds. Then he blinked, snapping awake, and looked around almost wildly. Until his gaze snagging on one of the shelves, or more specifically, something sitting on it, and held. 

“a bike, i did.” Stretch walked over to the shelf where a bandana was sitting, a bright turkey-red plaid, and picked it up, holding it out for Miss Maggie to see. “how much for this, too?”

By the time he left the shop, he was in a fine mood despite his savings being a little lighter. He was pushing a rattly old bike with a squeaky chain and a horn that let loose with a hoarse ‘awhooga’ when the dusty rubber bulb was squeezed. The bandana was stuffed into his short’s pocket and the first thing he was gonna do was deal with that, then he’d worry about some maintenance. Probably better to find out if his new bike was streetworthy before taking his act on the road.

He used the walk back to the store to draw in a few deep, refreshing breaths of the heat-smoggy air, letting it clear his head. 

“miss maggie sure smokes some strong shit,” Stretch muttered to himself. He left the bike leaning against the porch around back and headed over to the main road, taking his normal walking route down towards the corn. There were no kids on the makeshift baseball diamond today, looked like they’d headed off somewhere else to enjoy their penny candy. 

The grass was yellowed and dying under his sneakers as he went off the beaten path, heading towards the rustling corn. Was it his imagination, or did those whispers get louder as he approached, even eager? The corn got lonely sometimes, Edgar Allen had said, but it didn’t mean any harm.

Somehow, he didn’t think the skeleton they’d found in the fields back in Doris’s day would agree. 

“um, hi?” Stretch tried. There was no one around to see him and he still felt ridiculous, talking to the damn corn. “look, i dunno if you can understand me, but if you do, could you see that edgar allen gets this? i wanted to thank him for helping me out and i thought it’d look good on him.”

Carefully, he laid the bandana over a crux of green leaves and stalk, tugging to make sure it wouldn’t simply blow away. He left it there and turned back to town, hoping that the scarecrow got the message; as much as he wanted to thank the guy, he really didn’t feel like taking a second go in the corn maze to do it. He didn’t look back until he got back to the side of the road and there he paused, frowning. The splash of red should’ve been vivid against the sea of green but there was nothing, not so much as a glimpse. 

He craned his neck, searching, but it hadn’t fallen to the ground and the wind wasn’t strong enough to carry it off. Maybe the corn had gotten the message after all? Yeah, he was going with that, and he headed back to take a look at his new bike, hands in his pockets and whistling cheerfully, which was a heck of a trick for someone without lips. 

Yeah, he felt pretty good today and why not? He had a place to stay, a job, someone looking after him, and a dog. And now he had a bike. Things were looking up, Stretch decided. 

Things were looking up.

* * *

tbc


	12. Down The Garden Path

* * *

Stretch’s good mood lasted right about as long as it took to get back to the store. Not that he replaced it with a bad mood, nah, he was still pretty darn cheerful. But now that paybacks were done, it was time to put on his working hat, so to speak. To begin with, his new bike needed a thorough checking over; a skeleton could not travel on wheels alone, not unless he went back for roller skates. He needed to make sure the rest of the bike would get him to where he needed to go, too. 

There was a ramshackle garage squatting behind the store, the siding a grungier match to the building up front and the cracked windows too filthy to peer inside. The roll-up door was rusted shut, but the side door was unlocked. Stretch opened it a crack and dared to look inside, braced for anything. Bats, rats, creepy crawlies, who the hell knew what grew inside the sheds in a town with possibly man-eating corn. 

If there were any beasties, crawly or otherwise, they stayed hidden behind the wispy cobwebs or in their holes. What he did find was a lot of junk, piled in heaps, spilling out of bins and stacked on shelves. There was enough crap that if Red wanted, he could start a side business as a resale shop and give Miss Maggie some competition, mysterious message from the oracle not included, although tetanus was still on the table. 

As curious as some of the objects were, and damn, he could stir up some trouble on the /whatisthisthing reddit with all this, now was not the time for distractions from the main questline, not when victory was in sight. 

It didn’t take too much rummaging to find a bike pump and a small metal toolbox that for a wonder, actually had tools in it. He carried both back into the sunshine where the patient was waiting and got to work. 

Stretch was never going to earn a paycheck as a handyman, but he did know a little about bicycles. Chara had one and so did their friends and he’d gotten suckered into helping with maintenance a few times by a set of big brown eyes pleading their case. Even had his own bike back home, though it hadn’t been used in a long time. A nice little ten speed with glittery orange paint and a thick padded seat to make up for his lack of pillowy booty surrounding his tailbone. Once upon a time, that bike got pretty decent amount of use, but that fairytale wasn’t one he wanted to get into right now. 

This old rattletrap had exactly two speeds; go and stop. The tires were a little bald, but luckily, they took air without issue. The chain was rusty, but it responded readily to some WD-40 lubing and a little foreplay, the tramp. He checked all the bolts and sprockets, wiped off the seat and the little wire basket, and for good measure, gave the horn a good squeeze, setting off a hoarse ‘awooga’ into the still afternoon. Height was a bit of an issue, Stretch wasn’t ever gonna earn the nickname ‘short stuff’, not unless the next fairytale he stumbled into was Jack and the Beanstalk, but he managed to get the seat up enough that he wouldn’t jam himself in the chin with a knee. 

Once he was done, he wheeled the bike out to the road and gave it a test drive, tooling up and down the main road. It worked fine, the tires crunching over the gravel, and when he gave the horn a honk as he sailed past Mama’s, he could see people looking through the windows at him, some of them raising their hands in a wave.

He turned around past the sheriff’s and headed back, pedaling slowly. The inkling of an idea was taking hold at the back of his mind, winding its way in like paint dripping down a wall and puddling in his brain pan. Yeah, the bike was fine and all, but he’d been ‘fine’ pedaling along back in Ebott, hadn’t he. Taking little rides in the traditional manner on his shiny, fancy bike that he hadn’t bought and didn’t use the other nine speeds on. 

Well, he wasn’t in Ebott anymore, and maybe fine wasn’t good enough. All things could use a little improvement, right, even bikes. 

Decision made, he headed back to the shed. He didn’t know if any of this crap was Red’s (and seriously, what was that thing with the handles and the springs, it looked like an eggbeater on steroids) or if it’d been here when he moved in, but it was all covered with enough dust that there probably wasn’t anyone around to mourn the loss. The rolling door responded to a tickle and grope of WD-40 as well as the bike chain had and Stretch ran it up, forging his way through the trash jungle. He managed to clear out enough space to haul out the bulky item he’d noticed early partially hidden under a drop cloth and got to work. 

By the time he was nearly done, he was sweaty and filthy, but about ready to celebrate his triumph and thank the Academy. He’d shed his t-shirt, using it instead as a rag to wipe his forehead and if anyone spotting him as they walked down the sidewalk had a problem with his bare bones, no one made a fuss about it like they would have back in Ebott. There was a whole Karen Brigade back there worried about nudity and Monsters, seriously, those people would force a moldsmal into some boxer shorts if they had a chance. 

He glanced up at the bang of the side door closing to see Red and the dog headed his way. Red was carrying a brimming glass of iced sweet tea as he limped along. He cursed with colorful flair as the dog danced its way in front of him, making him slop tea over his fingers as he tried not to trip himself with his own cane. He aimed a halfhearted kick at the dog that missed by a mile. The dog only barked gleefully, darting over to Stretch, tongue at the ready for a taste test to verify Stretch was as yummy today as he’d been last night. 

Stretch only laughed and tried to hold the dog back in a feeble effort to avoid those eager licks. “easy, pal, you saw me a couple hours ago!”

“he probably don’t remember, mutt has a brain the size of a peanut,” Red growled. He handed it over the tea wordlessly, giving the newly-redesigned bike a once-over as Stretch gulped it down gratefully. 

“what the hell are you up to out here?” Red asked. He paused by the remains of the push lawnmower that was laid open like an autopsy, poking it absently with his cane, “and what happened here?

“i…uh…may have borrowed the engine,” Stretch admitted sheepishly. 

“borrowed,” Red snorted. “uh huh. seen this kind of borrowing before, usually turns into keepsies right quick.”

“i can put it back—” Stretch started uncertainly. Red waved him off, watching in bemusement as the dog took advantage of the distraction to lick right into Stretch’s mouth and left him sputtering in disgust.

“nah, ain’t used the damn thing in ages,” Red said. “i pay a local kid to mow these days. may as well donate the innards before it gets buried.” 

No surprise there. Even after last night's stormy weather tantrum, the ground had dried right up again in the morning sunshine. The mud puddles all dried into cracked divots and whatever grass was left was a charming shade of dead. Walking across it was like taking a stroll through a giant bowl of shredded wheat.

Red wandered back to the bike, his browbone slowly rising as he examined it. “you get that from old madge?” he asked neutrally.

Stretch closed his sockets briefly to block him out. The glass in his hand was down to rapidly melting ice cubes and dripping with condensation. He pressed to cool surface to his forehead, letting the cold wetness soothe him as he said, "okay, what. what's wrong with it.”

Red gave him a startled look, “huh?"

“no, i mean it,” Stretch said insistently. “don’t blow smoke up my ass, what's wrong? do purchases from her come with a darker, deeper price unknown? is all her shit haunted? does riding it commit my soul to the forces of evil? if I rub it does a genie come out, what?” He waved a hand at the possibly monster bike and not the kind of Monster listed on his personal I.D. “tell me now, don’t play sphinx with me, not today.”

Red snorted loudly and pulled out a little cylinder from his pocket. He shook out a toothpick and stuck it between his teeth. “nah, but it might break on ya two miles down the road.” His grin turned wolfish. “getting a little paranoid, dontcha think, city boy?” 

“no,” Stretch said, shortly.

Red only chuckled. “only thing wrong with that bike is what you frankensteined onto it. hope that thing actually runs or blowing smoke up your ass is gonna be the least of your problems.”

“it’ll run.” Okay, so he was about 95% sure it was gonna run. Maybe 90%. The engine he’d scavenged from the old lawnmower was strapped to the package carrier on the back of the bike, hooked up to the back wheel with a few extra gears and chain he’d dug out of the garage and he’d jerry-rigged a sort of throttle to the handlebars. It wasn’t pretty, but he was sure it would run without blowing up. Pretty sure. 

Sure enough to give it a try, anyway. 

“uh huh,” Red rolled the toothpick to the other corner of his mouth with his tongue, neat trick around those sharky teeth of his. “where ya think your headed on that death trap, anyway?”

Yeah, okay, that brought him up short. Aside from warning him off of any booty calls, (not that Stretch was looking for any shape of booty and sure as hell wasn’t taking any calls), Red had been pretty mum when it came to opinions about him hanging out with Edge. Stretch wasn’t under any illusions that Red was unaware of the happenings in town and not only because Edge probably damn well called him so they could keep their mystery woo woos on the same frequency. Red seemed like he knew all the local gossip, hell, he was probably the unofficial town bookie, who knew what he got up to on those weekend poker games?

But Edge was Red’s baby brother and as a big brother himself, Stretch was pretty sure he’d have some mighty strong opinions on Blue inviting someone like him out for pie, much less inviting them home to meet the family. No prospects, nothing ahead of him in life. Hell, he wasn’t even wearing underwear. 

And anyway, like he had any right to any fucking opinions about Blue’s life after the way he left—nope, not going there right now. 

So, yeah, it wasn’t that he didn’t want to admit he was going to see Edge, except how he really didn’t. He didn’t want to see any disappointment on Red’s face or distaste or…or whatever ‘dis’ might sprout up and if Red told him to leave his bro alone, told him not to go, Stretch wouldn’t, he would _never_ , he owed Red so much, owed him in ways Red didn’t even know about, but—but—

His mental waffling took far too long, and Red was unfortunately just as clever as Stretch feared or maybe it was the simple fact that the options of where someone could go in this town on a motorized bicycle was a pretty short list. One corner of Red’s mouth curled up in a half-smile. “headed out to the farm, huh.”

Stretch struggled with an answer and didn’t manage anything better than the obvious, “i think so?” he said meekly, “i mean, edge sort of invited me. not _invited_ invited, it’s not like a date, not that i wouldn’t date him, except you know, i wouldn’t because it’s a bad idea right now like you said, but he said i should meet his roommate and that I’d have to go to his house to do it and—" Stretch broke off to gasp for breath and his ‘fuck, please kill me to shut me up’ was left unspoken.

“okay, okay, ease down on the gas there. you must think i'm missing my wits on top of my foot.” Red snorted. “go wherever you want, kid, don’t make me no nevermind.” The dog was settled into Stretch’s lap, sound asleep and drooling enthusiastically, and Red leaned over to give him a pat, then struggled back up to give Stretch a similar one on top of his skull. He glanced at the bike again and asked speculatively, “’bout how fast you figure this hunk a junk can go?”

“not sure,” Stretch admitted, “not too fast. maybe twelve miles an hour?” 

“that a fact,” Red spat the toothpick into the dust and sucked loudly on his teeth. “hang on a mo’.” He limped through the open garage door and the sound of brisk rummaging echoed out. When he came back, grinning triumphantly, it was a bicycle helmet in hand. It was leopard-spotted, only that hideous pink-and-purple shade never graced any beast Stretch ever heard about. Perched on the top of the helmet were a pair of slightly bedraggled plastic cat ears and Stretch took it as solemnly as if he’d been handed Excalibur itself. Beggar vs chooser? Not him. 

Red stuck his hands in his pockets, his cane hooked over his elbow as he rocked unsteadily on his heels, “well c’mon, then, start ’er up. i can’t stand out here forever, someone’s gotta mind the store.”

“oh!” Stretch gave the back door a guilty look, “shouldn’t you head in, someone might loot the register or something.”

“no one steals from my shop.” Coolly assured and yeah, Stretch believed it, and not only because the townsfolk were good people. 

Stretch pushed the dog off his lap, ignoring its pitiful whine, and went to the bike. Here was the moment of truth. He gave the primer button a few pushes, then yanked the pull cord as hard as he could. It didn’t catch the first time, or the second, but on the third it sputtered a few times, coughed out a cloud of black smoke, then caught, puttered evenly along.

“see!” Stretch said triumphantly, speaking loudly to be heard over the blatting noise. “it didn’t blow up!”

“don’t know if that’s as reassuring as you seem to think, kid,” Red called back, but his grin was easy, “you know how to get there?”

Stretch cut the engine. He snagged his dirty t-shirt and made a fruitless attempt at wiping the grease off his hands. “down the exchange for about a mile, hang a left, don’t stray from the path.”

“s’right,” Red nodded, “you leave soon, you'll get there right around suppertime and that’s always a good time to show up on my bro’s doorstep.”

“thanks, red,” Stretch said gratefully, “thank you.” 

“don't thank me yet. and kid?” Red’s crimson gaze seemed to bore into him, “whatever you see or hear, don't you leave that path." 

Well, Stretch should’ve known he wasn’t getting out of here without at least a vaguely cryptic warning. 

“i won’t, promise.”

Red nodded and started the slow trudge back to the store. The dog roused himself enough to follow along, tail wagging happily. Red paused at the door and called back, “tell the kid i said hi.” 

“i will, but didn’t you just see edge this morning?” Stretch asked curiously.

“didn’t mean him.” Before he could ask, Red was gone back inside with a bang of the screen door, taking both dog and answers with him. 

Welp, chasing after him was pointless and anyway, that question would be answered as soon as he got to Edge’s place, which it seemed he now had Red’s unofficial approval to visit. Stretch couldn’t help grinning and he hugged himself tightly, managing to smear even more grease on his bones. 

Yeah, okay, he needed at least five minutes for a quick wash up before he headed out or the woods would be the least of his worries. Edge and his roomie would kick him and his stank right back out to the road before he could make it to the porch. 

Stretch left the bike and his mess where it was, promising himself guiltily to handle the junk cleanup tomorrow as he headed in to wash and change, and he did not spend an extra minute considering what t-shirt would make the best first impression for the unknown roommate. 

He really didn’t.

* * *

The first thing Stretch figured out as he started on his journey was that it was honestly a nice day for a ride. Overhead the sky was an endless blue with only a few careless puffy clouds that had no interest in interfering with the affairs of the sun. The blowing wind wasn’t afraid though, it chased away the heat, and that combined with the blatting engine made it impossible to hear much of anything. 

Not that there was much to hear. He stayed off the actual road, keeping to the wayside so as not to distract any of the cars as he puttered his way along. 

The directions weren’t exactly complex, only one turn that he knew of, right into the woods. Stretch found it easily enough, the paved road vanishing into dust and gravel that led into the trees. 

That was where he paused, easing off the throttle and putting his feet down as he looked at the entrance. 

It was only trees, their tall, sturdy trunks reaching up towards the sky and the wide, green spread of their leafy branches casting the path in shadows. There were a pair of tire ruts in the path which meant someone drove it regularly and not just Edge’s motorcycle. 

Only trees, that was all. Right, just like it’d only been corn, and Stretch didn’t move, sitting there with the engine blatting cheerily and the blue sky watching over him as he waited here on the cusp of…what? Fate? Or fatality?

There was only one way to find out.

Behind him, a couple trucks zoomed on past on their way down the exchange, either heedless of his inner turmoil or foolishly assuming he knew what he was doing and honestly, he wasn’t sure he’d known what he was doing for years now.

His concerns weren’t all simply about traveling in these woods, either, despite them being the same ones Red warned him away from and no less than two people went off with the cryptic about not straying from the path. No, there was also the fact he was gonna be meeting Edge’s unknown roommate to ask questions about some of the mysteries of this place and he’d be lying if he didn’t attribute a nervous butterfly or two to that.

The blat of a horn nearly sent him leaping right out of his shorts and when he jerked around, barely catching his balance before both he and the bike spilled into the dust, he saw a group of Humans in the back of a pickup truck waving at him and probably laughing at his helmet.

He waved back, unable to help a sheepish grin, and then turned back to the path. The trees only rustled softly in the light breeze, branches lightly swaying. It didn’t seem scary and hell, he knew scary. Scary was the first time he stepped out into the sunlight after a lifetime beneath a mountain and scary was another first step, much more recently, this time onto a Greyhound bus. 

“fuck it,” Stretch said, aloud. He goosed the throttle, the bike lurching forward into the woods, and the trees swallowed him up. 

Only not really, not even close. Stretch really didn’t know what he’d really been expecting. That maybe he’d come across a little gal in a red hood with a picnic basket for grandma heading down the path? Or he’d stumble over some kids with a nasty stepmother backstory on a stroll, scattering breadcrumbs along the way?

Neither of those things came true. (Although if Edge and his roommate lived in a gingerbread house, he was done. He was turning his putt-putt mobile around and heading right out of this fairy tale, tout suite, and into another story. Maybe he’d see if Red’s swashbuckler needed a first mate.)

There was nothing out of the ordinary, not even the creepy vibes that the corn had given him. The woods seemed no different than wandering through the city park in Ebott. 

It was a lot cooler here in the woods, not only from the speed breeze. The heavy branches were also shielding him from the overpowering heat of the sun overhead, shading him in cooling green. There were squirrels and birds darting around overhead, unperturbed by his puttering little engine-that-could, and once a deer even crossed the road in front of him, pausing to stare unafraid with large liquid eyes before heading back into the scrubby underbrush. 

Hell, if he was honest, Stretch was almost disappointed. Not that he’d wanted anything to happen, he didn’t exactly relish the idea of Red having to make that search party to find his dumb ass. 

But after all those warnings, he’d sort of expected something to happen, a little trouble of some kind to be peeking out from behind the trees. Then again, he’d heeded those warnings, hadn’t he, it was always the disobedient types who got turned into frogs or had flower petals spill from their mouths when they talked, wasn’t it. His interest in adventure was definitely on the other side of the scale over his desire not to spit slugs or something, so he was erring on the side of not borrowing trouble. 

His disappointment in the woods vanished completely though as he came up on what Red had so quaintly referred to as ‘the farm’.

The dinky path rounded a curve, the trees opening up into a clearing, and Stretch could only stare, dumbly easing down on the throttle until the bike slowed to a stop. 

Well, it looked like all his expectations were taking a trip through the funhouse today, now didn’t it. 

After seeing Red’s place, he hadn’t really been thinking much about the state of Edge’s homestead, what was there to consider, anyway? It was a cabin in the woods…on a farm…okay, so his logic was a little thin, he hadn’t prepped his anticipation very well on the journey. But whatever he’d imagined paled in comparison to reality. 

The actual house looked like a log cabin, sure, but one that took a nibble from Alice’s ‘eat me’ cake. It was huge, with large windows shuttered in green beneath a wide, gabled roof trimmed in scrolling eaves, and a covered porch lined with cozy rocking chairs circling the first floor. Flat stones made a winding walkway that led to the front door and there were flowers lining the path in a riot of brilliant, ankle-high colors. Smoke was curling from the rooftop despite the overall warmth of the day and it scented the air with the welcoming aroma of woodsmoke.

The overall effect was one of one of invitation and Stretch was immediately suspicious of it; not a gingerbread house, no, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a witch inside. 

Then the door opened and all the doubts flitting through Stretch’s mind dissolved into impossible static. He could only stare numbly at the person that darted down the path towards him, their hair bouncing beneath their chin as they scampered down the path because it was…it was impossible.

A young human, maybe only a couple years younger than him, and they looked so much like Chara it was downright disturbing, the resemblance taking a detour from possible siblings right into uncanny valley. So much like Chara, only, Chara was just a kid, a _kid_ , and this person who couldn’t be Chara, could _not_ be, but looked as if they’d aged like fine wine since he’d last seen them. Or maybe curdled like old milk.

“Hello, Stretch,” they said, warmly, those familiar eyes shining, and their smile was as bright as the sun that was hidden behind the trees, “Welcome to our home.”

* * *

tbc


	13. Neverland

* * *

If he were asked, Stretch would be the first to admit he was probably not the greatest influence out there for anyone. When he was younger, he’d tried his best for Blue’s sake at least; he worked two jobs, he made sure the laundry was done so Blue could wear clean clothes for school and all that. But as Blue got older and more able to help out, a lot of that shit fell off to the wayside into apathy. Until they got to the surface, anyway, but whatever efforts he’d made to get his life on track in the Aboveground took a sad detour back to wallowing in misery a few months back. 

That said, Stretch tried not to be a complete asshole at any given time, but damn if living in Backwater wasn’t putting his manners to the test, because the predominant phrase running through his mind right now as he stared at the older ‘Chara’ clone was, ‘what in the name of holy blue fuck?’.

At least he managed not to say it, but then, he also didn’t manage to say anything else. Instead of a ‘hi’ or a ‘how ya doin’ or even a ‘so, how about those dodgers’ for the smiling Human in front of him, all Stretch did was gape, his bike engine idling and his mouth hanging open in an invitation to any circling flies in search of a new home. 

His luck was leaning towards good today, insect-wise, since none took the invite, and all the Human did was smile wider, their eyes crinkling as they held out their hand and said, with a certain slyness, “Don’t you know how to greet a new pal?”

Stretch knew before he even shook their hand what was coming. Mostly, anyway, turned out to be a whoopie cushion hidden in the palm rather than the joy buzzer Stretch was so fond of. But he knew, this was _his_ gag, and still he hastily switched off the engine and reached over. He took their hand in a daze and the rubbery wheeze of a fake fart as their palms met made the Human laugh in delight.

“Still works,” they said gleefully. The Human held up the little whoopie cushion before tucking it into their pocket, leaving aside humor for sincerity. “I have so wanted to meet you.”

“me?” Stretch said blankly. Not exactly showcasing his brilliance, there, but he couldn’t seem to stop staring. That familiar, cherubic smile was so strange when it was on another face. Of all the things he’d seen so far in Backwater, this was, by far, the last he’d ever expected, and that was including the damn corn.

“Oh, yes, Edge has told me all about you,” they said, rocking on their heels. From the neck down, the resemblance took a little detour. No striped shirt here and instead of the green Chara favored, they wore blue. A subtle difference, but one that Stretch latched onto gratefully, along with what they said next. “My name is Frisk.”

“frisk,” Stretch repeated. He felt like a living echo, but that name seemed somehow familiar, niggling at the back of his mind. Eh, didn’t matter, the important thing was that it wasn’t ‘Chara’, ‘cause his mental capacity for accepting the weird was teetering on the brink of overload. 

Their mouth twitched again into a smile. "You're wearing my old helmet."

"oh. oh!” Stretch slapped a hand on top of his head and nearly impaled it on a cat ear. Hastily, he started working on the buckle. “uh. sorry about that.” 

"No, it's cute,” Frisk said cheerfully. “Red wouldn’t let me ride my bike without it, either.” Stretch could only blink at them, still waiting on an internal reboot, here, and the Human’s mouth twisted wryly. "It’s okay. The resemblance is uncanny, I know. We saw it all on television when it happened a few years ago. Chara, the human who brought Monsters back to the surface. Red thought it was all very funny, but his sense of humor is rather questionable on a good day."

On television? But…how…? Weakly, Stretch said, "i don't understand."

“I know," Frisk said. Their eyes darkened with sympathy. "And I doubt very much that Edge or Red explained." They sighed with fond irritation, "All these years living here, and Edge still loves his puzzles. Never a straight answer if he can twist it around for someone to solve. Red is just a shit. Come on,” they jerked their chin towards the cabin. “Edge is around back.”

Frisk turned and started back up the winding path, bare feet light on the flat stones. Stretch realized he was still straddling his bike and hastily put down the kickstand before following. Okay, so, no Red Riding Hood today, he was more like a Lost Boy and if Peter Pan swooped down right now with Tinkerbell sparkling at his feet, he was gonna swat them both down.

“wait!” he called. Frisk paused and turned around, their expression questioning as Stretch jogged to catch up, trying not to stumble over his untied shoelaces. “you…you’re edge’s roommate, right?”

Frisk considered that and nodded. “That’s as good a word as any.”

“right.” Okay, yeah, he would have felt pretty damn guilty about his frequent admiration of Edge’s hips if it weren’t for Red assuring him Edge wasn’t in a relationship. Roommates, not ‘roommates’, finger quote-slash-finger quote. He was losing the thread, though, and he wanted to pick it back up before it unraveled completely. “look, i’m supposed to be here to ask you about edgar allen.”

“I know,” Frisk smiled again and a pair of dimples peeked out. Now that he was past the initial shock, he could see a splash of freckles on their nose, another little difference distancing them from Chara that was a relief to see. “I’ll explain everything in due time. Come on.” They dashed away again, and all Stretch could do was follow. 

In due time, right, he’d been waiting for anyone around here to pay their dues for days, give him some straightforward answers, and it seemed like the only thing he ever got was another winding road. 

He’d been doing pretty good about cutting back on the cigarettes, but today Stretch would have maimed someone’s uncle for a full pack and a half an hour to work his way through ‘em, one after another. 

Frisk led the way behind the house and as Stretch stepped around the corner, he stopped to stare at the view. It opened up into a clearing that was filled with huge garden spreading out in a chaotic sort of order; beds of bright flowers, rows of different veggies and berries, baskets hanging between them with leafy tendrils spilling out. Parts of it already looked like they were winding down for the summer, like the rows of truly enormous sunflowers skirting the garden, their bright petals already withering and their broad faces gone to seed, heralds to the upcoming change of season. 

It was incredible, it was insane, how…?

“how does all this grow in the woods?" Stretch asked wonderingly, to no one in particular. “how do you grow sunflowers without sun?” Some light filtered in through the heavy canopy of branches overhead, sure, but the overwhelming appearance was one of shade. Stretch didn’t know shit about gardening, but this wasn’t exactly his idea of a great place to set one up. 

Obviously, someone forgot to tell these plants, it sure wasn’t stopping them. 

“They aren’t sunflowers. Not exactly.”

It wasn’t Frisk’s voice and Stretch startled, turning to see Edge kneeling close by in the dirt by another row, briskly picking handfuls from the low plants. There was a basket next to him half-filled with green pods, beans or peas, he wasn’t sure which, and that was where it stayed because it wasn’t the gardening that Stretch was interested in anyway. He promptly forgot about sunflowers, beans, peas, Peter Pan, everything, and stood mutely watching Edge work. 

Somehow, he always managed to forget in between seeing him how damned attractive Edge was. Even in shabby working clothes, the underarms of his t-shirt damp with sweat and wearing a pair of dirty flower-patterned garden gloves, he was a hell of a snack pack. All those baggy clothes did was cloak what he knew they concealed, hinting at what lay beneath with a suggestion that unwrapping would reveal delightful surprises and—

Yeah, okay, he was gonna stop that line of thought right there. He was here for a reason and it wasn’t to ogle at Red’s little bro.

Then all his good intentions took a spin down the drain as Edge looked up at him and smiled. Not a scowl, which wouldn’t have surprised him, not a smirk, which was to be expected, but an honest-to-angel smile. Like he was actually glad to see him and the little throb in Stretch’s battered soul didn’t hurt nearly as much as it should. 

“So, you’ve finally arrived,” Edge said. He went back to his picking, didn’t seem to notice the way Stretch’s eye lights kept trying to drift down to where his shirt was riding up at the back. 

“looks that way.” Stretch tore his gaze from Edge and took the safer route of glancing around at the garden again. “took longer than i thought it would. this place could use a yellow brick road.”

"That seems like it would invite tornados,” Edge said dryly, “and we see enough trouble."

Trouble? That didn’t seem right. How much trouble could show up on their doorstep out here in the boonies. Then again, probably better to just roll with it, for all he knew there were bears out here or monsters with a lowercase ‘m’. Fuck it, could even be monster bears, who knew? It would sure explain why everyone said to keep on the path.

So, Stretch let that be and asked instead, “your bro didn’t give you a heads up that i was coming?”

“No.” And there was a touch of the sourpuss he knew and lo—liked. Edge slithered on down the row and attacked the pods on those plants, adding them in to his basket. “While I at least attempt to keep my brother apprised of any situations in town, he tends to side with the element of surprise.”

From out of nowhere, the Human appeared. They marched right up to Edge and smacked him lightly on the back of the skull and Stretch nearly jumped himself; he’d just about forgotten about them completely despite them being the entire reason behind his visit. Yep, that was the only reason he was here, to ask about Edgar Allen, and he damn well needed to remember that.

“Oh, stop it!” Frisk scolded, “You and your brother, and your petty squabbles! You were just as bad yourself when we were still Underground, always had to play up the puzzles.”

Edge made a show of rubbing his skull, as if that little smack even hurt. His mouth twitched in an almost-smile, and it wasn’t as nice as the one earlier, but it still made Stretch melt a little inside. “That is possible,” he allowed. 

“Good. You behave. Now,” Frisk turned back to Stretch and said brightly, “Come inside, we’ll talk over dinner.”

Uh. 

Frisk started towards the house and Edge got to his feet, basket in hand, to follow them. Stretch hung back, suddenly wary of going into the gingerbread house. He knew all the stories about spiders and flies, and what happened in their parlors, thanks, and before Frisk could disappear inside, Stretch called, weakly, "i really only came out here to ask about edgar allen."

They hesitated at the open door and from the glint in their eyes, they had an inkling of what Stretch was thinking about. “I know. And Edge set you on a quest to find me so you can ask,” they laughed delightedly, “The phone book was a nice touch.”

"you know about that?” Stretch blurted, “so you’ve known i wanted to talk to you?”

They nodded. “Of course, Edge tells me everything.”

“so why didn't you come into town to see me?!"

Their sudden mischievous smile only made them look even more like Chara. "And spoil his fun?"

Frisk went inside, the door swinging shut behind them. Edge stayed outside, his basket of beans-or-peas balanced on his hip. He arched a browbone and asked, “Are you coming or not?” 

Stretch wavered, scuffing his feet against the stone path, both tempted and wary, and before he could make a choice, his magic decided for him. They didn’t have stomachs, actually, but it didn’t stop their magic from imitating one for him, letting out a growl that was a reminder that the lunch Red packed him was still stashed away in his bag uneaten.

That earned him a low chuckle and the melted chocolate of Edge’s voice didn’t help his growling not-belly one damn bit. Edge tilted his head towards the door in invitation, “Come on, it’s dinner time and I can’t bear to let moronic creatures starve. You can help me cook.”

“uh.” Leaving aside the whole moronic thing (he’d probably earned it at some point, anyway), now might be the time to bring up an important fact. “i should warn you ahead of time, i’m not much of a chef.”

Edge only nodded, sighing deeply, “Of course. I should have suspected that looks aside, you were my brother’s doppelgänger rather than mine.”

“what?” How was it this guy could be so unfairly hot and so damned confusing at the same time? “what does that even mean?” 

“It’s hard to explain.”

Stretch only crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “ain’t gonna get easier if you don’t start.”

Edge made an impatient sound, “Come inside and we will. Stretch,” his voice went lower, gentle, “Backwater can be unnerving, I know this, but you’re safe here. I would never let anything hurt you in my home.”

Yeah, okay, that was seriously unfair, like Edge was speaking directly to his nerves, reassuring him with honeyed promises and damned if Stretch didn’t believe him. Worse, he _wanted_ to believe him. 

He still hung back uncertainly, and one corner of Edge’s mouth quirked up as he added, “Besides, my brother would never forgive me if I let anything happen to his best salesperson.”

That burst the tension hanging in the air and Stretch snorted loudly, “that ain’t saying much, I’ve seen firsthand how red runs the store.”

With a last nervous glance at the garden/woods behind him, Stretch finally followed. He hoped he at least lived to regret it.

* * *

An hour later, Stretch was feeling pretty stupid about his little moment of panic. For one, sitting in their kitchen peeling carrots was probably the most normal thing he’d done since he’d gotten here. No ghosts popping out from the walls, nothing coming alive that shouldn’t to say hi. The most complicated thing he had to do was make sure the peelings ended up in the trash bin rather than on the floor and even that he got right at least ninety percent of the time. 

Stretch wasn’t entirely incapable of cooking. It was only that his bro enjoyed it so much more than him that he didn’t bother and when he did, the words ‘instant’ or ‘microwave’ were usually involved in some capacity.

He spent the rest of his focus on covertly watching his hosts. Frisk and Edge moved around the kitchen and each other easily, they’d obviously been roomies for some time. They laughed, they teased, made stupid in-jokes that Stretch longed to understand, and Stretch only sat back and watched them. To be honest, there was something a little unnerving about their homey domestication. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting, for sure.

Or maybe he was just a little homesick. In spite of Red’s mothering, he was starting to miss his brother’s care and concern, a little. Probably better to not think of that and Stretch swapped out his peeled carrots for the basket of what he was assured were definitely peas, working on shelling them into another bowl.

The outside of the house might be more wicked witch in the woods, but the inside was more traditional in an airy open floor plan. From his spot in the kitchen, he could see the living room with large, comfy sofas positioned in front of a pretty damn nice television. 

There were also several crowded bookshelves and a few cabinets against the walls, each one filled with an impressive collection of action figures and the glass meticulously polished. Pictures on the wall, some of Edge and Frisk, a few more than included Red, along with artwork, pretty landscapes that might well be visible from their front door. 

All it all it was simply…normal. Not a single cauldron or any eye of newt in sight, and Stretch could’ve been doing the same thing back in Ebott except for the fact that this Human wasn’t Chara and Edge wasn’t…yeah.

Once the prep was done, dinner didn’t take long to get on the table. Soon they were all sitting with a bowl and if Stretch was a little dubious about the unknown dish set in front of him, all his worries vanished with the first bite. 

He was getting used to the tasty food that Edge brought to the shop a couple times a week; Red was always willing to share and now that he thought about it, either Edge always included extra for leftovers or he’d started packing more so that both of them could have enough tasty goodness. Stretch wasn’t sure which was true, but he knew which one he hoped it was. 

This, though, this was something entirely else, so much more than simple, tasty nourishment. Cheesy grits with a vegetable medley and a poached egg on top, that’s what Frisk introduced the dish as, but that description couldn’t truly explain the taste. How the fresh peas were buttery sweet, the carrots sweet and crisp, the way the egg yolk burst open when his fork pierced it, the bright, rich yolk dripping down to coat everything in reach with deliciousness. Stretch had to resist the urge to shovel it into his mouth, forcing himself to chew it slowly and didn’t regret it, groaning aloud around his mouthful, it was so damned good. His brother wasn’t a bad cook, but it was like comparing a bowl of oatmeal to a full breakfast platter, there was no comparison.

Stretch took another huge bite, moaning again as he hit the creamy, cheesy goodness of the grits. He looked up and paused mid-chew, to see both Edge and Frisk staring at him. 

“hrmmm?” Neither of them replied to his not-a-question and Stretch awkwardly swallowed down his too-large mouthful before trying again, “what?” He grabbed a napkin and wiped at his face, but it came away clean.

“Nothing,” Edge said finally. There was a faint flush of redness high on his cheekbones, for no good reason Stretch could figure, not with the way the air conditioning was blasting out. He cleared his throat and turned his attention to his own bowl. “It’s only nice to see someone enjoying my cooking so thoroughly.”

Frisk only offered a frustratingly Mona Lisa sort of smile and dug in, the three of them eating in silence, aside from Stretch’s occasional happy groans. 

Once the bowls were scraped clean, Frisk pushed theirs aside and announced, “All right, then, if I’m going to explain, I think it’s best to start at the beginning.” Frisk slanted a questioning look at Edge. “If that’s all right?”

“Why are you asking me?” Edge stood to clear away the dishes, carrying the stack to the sink. “It’s your story.”

“Because you’re in it.”

Stretch could only sit there, trying not to squirm with impatience as Edge thought that over, rinsing the bowls before stacking them into the dishwasher. “Tell him,” he said. “Mysteries are one thing, but I don’t care for lies.”

Frisk smiled, their eyes gone memory-dark. “I know. All right, then!” They clapped their hands together lightly and Stretch settled in for what he hoped was a damned good story.

“I’m from Backwater originally,” Frisk began, “but I didn’t live here my entire life. When I was a child, my parents died. I ended up going to Ebott to live with relatives and it was—” They frowned, teeth grinding briefly as if they were chewing on the words, managing only a curt, “Unpleasant.” Frisk took a long, slow breath and went on, “One day I simply had enough and ran away. All the way up Mount Ebott and that is where I fell into the Underground.” 

Stretch didn’t say anything, but his expression must’ve given him away, or maybe his hands, his joints nearly creaking as he clasped them tightly together. He knew this story, nearly this exact story, told to him by a child who right now should be safely living back in Ebott with their adopted father.

Frisk’s mouth twitched in an almost smile. “No, not your Underground. Theirs. Red and Edge’s.”

Stretch glanced at Edge. He was still washing the cooking pans, pink rubber gloves incongruous against the pale of his bones, but the tilt of his head indicated he was listening. Realization was dawning with glacial slowness; a pair of skeleton brothers in the Underground coming to the surface along with a Human child. He knew this story because it was his own, and more than that.

“you’re talking about the multiverse,” Stretch said slowly. 

Of course. He could have slapped himself silly for his stupidity. He’d never even considered their situation might be similar; the age differences threw him off, far more than they should have. Sans was of an age with him, Papyrus a match to Blue. Red was so obviously much older than Stretch it hadn’t even clicked, seriously, was he that off his game? That should’ve been his first thought and instead, it never made it on his list.

But then, none of them really liked to talk about it much, either. Sans and Papyrus sure weren’t bringing up how they ended up here, didn’t take any kind of magic to see the shadows lurking in the depths of their eye lights even now. They’d just showed up one day in Snowdin right before Chara did, two skeletons from another world that seemed so hurt by their pasts that Stretch and Blue let them keep the names and took on nicknames of their own. Turned out it was easy to forget, somehow, that they hadn’t always been there, easy to let a sort of shroud fall over that knowledge. Not like Stretch wasn’t used to it when it came to his past.

Only now the veil was getting ripped away. Edge and Red weren’t only other Monsters, they were _other_ Monsters, holy shit, and they’d been here for how long?

“Yes,” Frisk nodded as if reading his mind, and wasn’t that a terrifying thought. “And we’ve learned that time can flow differently beneath the mountain. It seems that I arrived in their Underground some years before your child fell.”

Their smile faltered, faded, the silence broken by the sound of running water and the soft clatter of dishes in the sink. “Their Underground was...well. It was a place of LV, not love. Their king was mad and when I came to the castle…well.” Frisk shuddered, looking away from Stretch’s numb gaze. A bony hand settled on their shoulder, sharpened fingertips cautious, and Frisk looked up at Edge with something like gratitude. “we were the only survivors. We took the Human souls that the King had collected and went past the barrier, the three of us. Only, we were afraid of the humans’ reactions, so we hid ourselves from the people in Ebott and I brought Edge and Red back here. Backwater has always been fairly openminded when it comes to unusual folk and I thought they might be accepted here. I was right.”

Frisk hesitated then, choosing their words with care, “Backwater is a town that attracts certain things. Good things and bad things. The people here weren’t surprised to meet us.” Their eyes took on a faraway look. “In fact, they were expecting us. As I said, the town attracts good and bad things, and it needs watching over. When we arrived, the current caretaker was old and weakening. They were calling for a suitable replacement and I suppose I was perfect for the job. Not only had I been touched by magic in the Underground, I was also once in the possession of six other Human souls, and that touched me. Changed me, in a way. And so, we took over as caretakers, Edge and I.” Frisk straightened their shoulders, lifting their chin as they said, firmly, “I am the keeper of the town’s soul.”

“And I am their protector,” Edge said. They were first words he’d spoken since Frisk began, each one resonating with strength far beyond the spoken, not a mere statement, he said it as something _known_. Then he offered a faint smile, almost sheepish, as he added, “I also make pies and pastries to sell in town.”

“And that’s my story,” Frisk finished. They seemed almost nervous, watching Stretch, perhaps waiting for a reaction. 

Stretch didn’t know what was on his face, but he sure knew what was rattling around in his head and that was one simple, weak thought, _I could really use a cigarette right about now._

He sagged back in his chair and let his head drop down into his hands. This was all…fuck. This wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting, well, mostly, anyway. He’d been more right than he knew about one thing; a witch did live here, sorta, cauldron or not. 

“okay,” Stretch said, more to himself than the two people waiting on the other side of the table. “okay, that’s. yeah.”

A hand settled on his shoulder and Stretch yelped, nearly scrambling away from the unexpected touch. He fell off the other side of the chair with a painful thud, fighting to untangle his legs from the tablecloth. Still standing on the other side, Edge only held his hands up in a stick-‘em-up gesture and didn’t try to touch him again. “It’s a lot to take in, I know.”

“you think?” Stretch sputtered. He managed to get his feet loose but didn’t try to stand; the floor seemed a lot more secure right about now. “fuck, you guys should’ve put that in a damn book instead of all those addresses and gave me time to read the footnotes! wait,” Stretch rolled to his hands and knees, and crawled around the table to look at Frisk, “so what does that make red? why does red live in town and not out here?”

Edge answered him first, a touch sharply, “You’ll need to ask him that.”

Frisk only looked saddened, a shadow falling across their Chara-esque face. “Yes, that is his story to tell.”

Fair enough. Stretch sank back down, rubbing a knuckle between his aching sockets as he considered. “okay, hold up. what about edgar allen?” 

“After all that, you’re still worried about the scarecrow?” Edge sounded torn between amusement and offense.

“yeah, i am!” Stretch retorted. He might be a moron on any given day, but he didn’t forget about pals in the face of earth-shattering revelations. “that explanation filled up a lot of the questions on the form, but how does any of it explain edgar allen?” He pointed a finger at Frisk. “edge said he’s gonna die in the fall and you’d know why!”

“Die?” Frisk considered that, nodding slowly, “I suppose that’s accurate, in a way, but it’s also not. Growing things have a power of their own, you know. The corn, the garden, they give life, and that is something the town needs.” Frisk spread their hands, their empty palms up. “But what they offer is without conscious. Townsfolk aren’t in any real danger, but strangers can be, and aside from the loss of life, which I don’t want, we also don’t need to draw the attention of outsiders. Since I came here, every year I call upon a harvest spirit to watch over the crops, to protect the corn and the people who might wander into it. Edgar Allen came to us in the spring and he’ll leave us in the fall, but he’ll return, next year, after a fashion. He always does.”

A harvest spirit. Right. Edge and Red were from another Universe, along with a kid who wasn’t Chara, the scarecrow was a harvest spirit, and Stretch was quietly going nuts inside his own head. Seriously, Stretch should’ve been taking notes, this info dump was gonna take a while to process.

He sat there a while on the floor, trying to gather up his scattered wits, and nope, it was not happening. This was a three-cigarette problem, and he was starting to get eager to get started on renewing his nicotine habit. A glance out the window confirmed that the light outside was going soft and golden, the sun low in the sky. “well. uh. thanks for dinner and all, but i better get going if i’m gonna get home before dark.” Not his best speech, but then, Stretch was definitely not at his best.

“Of course,” Frisk stood, and their smile was gentle. “Please, visit again, Stretch. It was lovely to meet you.”

Edge stepped up again and this time, Stretch didn’t flinch from him. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

He held out a hand and Stretch took it without thinking. It jolted him unexpectedly, a soft cry choked off before it could escape. That simple touch was strangely electric, warm, bare bones curling with such gentleness against his own. Absurdly, it settled him, helped eased the roiling confusion boiling in his mind. 

It was in a near daze that he let Edge draw him silently to his feet, pulling him along like a puppet on a string. Stretch barely managed a vague wave in Frisk’s direction as he walked with Edge out the door, and if his gaze automatically fell downward to watch the sway of Edge’s hips as he walked, welp, it wasn’t like there was anyone else around to notice.

At least, Stretch didn’t think so, might be better not to ‘ass of u and me’ around this place, even if all he was doing was watching someone’s ass. 

Better safe than sorry; going forward, that was gonna be his motto. Right after he got back to Red’s on his ramshackle motorized bike.

* * *

tbc


	14. All In The Jeans

* * *

Stretch let Edge lead him outside, towards the winding front walkway. But instead of heading down the stone path to where Stretch’s bike was sitting there like a steampunk nightmare invading their gingerbread fairytale, he drew Stretch down to sit on the front steps of the porch. The bricks were soothingly cool beneath him in the waning heat of the day and Edge sat next to him, his knee bumping lightly against Stretch’s.

“You don’t have to rush off just yet,” Edge told him quietly. “There’s still some time before sunset.” He still had a hold on Stretch’s hand and a bony thumb rubbed gently across the backs of his knuckles. “But you looked like you needed some air.”

“yeah,” Stretch agreed, numbly. He stared down at yard in front of him, the riotously colorful flowerbeds amidst rocky outcroppings that led their way up the little hill to the house. It was a little cooler here in the woods out of the stark sun overhead in town, closer to another season than summer or so it felt to him. It was all so inviting, welcoming, and his first thought upon seeing it that this was a trap of some sort seemed a little insulting now that he’d been fed and released. He’d eaten Red’s food, hell, moved right into his home without a qualm, and a well-kept cabin in the woods was where he drew the line?

But then, it wasn’t the house where the real problems lay, was it, it was the people living in it.

Monsters and a Human from another multiverse, _again,_ and not just any Monsters, but another set of mirror images here in the Aboveground. He’d been worried about a Stephen King effect around this place and it turned out he should’ve been more concerned with Isaac Asimov, ‘cause the shift from gothic horror to sci-fi was not one he’d been braced for, with a ‘little invasion of the body snatchers’ vibe tossed in for extra flavor. 

Only, that wasn’t fair, was it. Doppelgängers, Edge had mentioned earlier almost like it was a joke, but it was true, just like Sans and Papyrus were and he’d adjusted to them okay. It hadn’t been easy hanging out with someone who wore his brother’s face, but he’d adjusted. And despite the somewhat otherworldly location, these guys had been nothing but kind to Stretch, kinder than the Humans who’d greeted them when they’d popped out from the mountain, for sure.

Hell, Red took him in like a mama dog adopting a stray kitten. The glossy veneer of Stretch’s knowledge-dump panic was cracking and with it his weird sense of numbness, the void it left behind filling with dawning horror. 

They were the only three who got out, Frisk said, they’d lost everything and everyone, and fled all the way here, and Stretch was the one about to have a panic attack about it. Exactly what kind of asshole was he trying to be here? 

When Sans and Papyrus showed up under similar circumstances, he and Blue opened their lives and homes to them, all tea and sympathy. Well, mostly the tea was from Blue, but still. He was out here in Backwater crying in his soup over a breakup and he couldn’t even dredge up some compassion for versions 2.0?

“i’m sorry,” Stretch blurted thoughtlessly. He turned his hand in Edge’s, shifting to grip his slender fingers tightly. Bare bones against bare bones, weirdly intimate for all that they were only holding hands. He didn’t think he’d ever touched another skeleton like this except his own brother, back when he was little and Stretch was still trying to keep him from running off after every other damn shiny thing he ever saw. 

Holding Edge’s hand was a lot different than trying to hang on to his squirmy wormy little brother. Edge only held on just as tight, his brow bone furrowing. “You don’t need to apologize, it’s a lot to take in. You’re honestly taking this all much better than I expected. Theorizing about a multiverse is a great deal different than being confronted with living specimens.”

“no, not that. i get that. i mean—i’m _sorry.”_ Stretch waved his free hand around them vaguely, trying to indicate the entire world with one helpless gesture, “for everything. it must’ve been rough.”

Yeah, nice to see that Stretch’s gift for understatement hadn’t been affected by his personal traumas. Rough was a really great way of describing being the only survivors of their entire world. Next, he’d describe water as slightly damp, maybe fire could be ‘a little burny’.

Edge’s expression cleared, a certain tightness forming around his sockets. “Ah.” He looked away, eye lights rising to the sky where scattered pools of blue showed through the leafy branches. His eye lights were the orangey-red glow of a banked campfire, the crack running through his left socket lent him a sort of strangely thoughtful look. “It’s all right, it was a long time ago for us.”

“about ten years, right?” Stretch winced inwardly, yeah, sure, keep on talking about his painful past, that was a great payback for a yummy dinner. “i mean, that’s what i got from the book you gave me.”

“Yes,” Edge agreed. He didn’t seem to mind talking about it, maybe time really did pad on the emotional distance; Stretch’d have to check back on his own history in a couple years, give his memories a poke and see what bruises came back. “A third of my lifetime.” 

Huh. If the math was right, that actually put Edge as a little older than him, who would’ve thunk it, the little brother mythos tipped on its axis, just for him.

Edge slanted a considering glance his way. “We knew other Monsters came to the surface. I kept tabs on the news from the world outside Backwater, just in case—” he hesitated and whatever awful scenario he was thinking about got lost in a shrug. “Well. Just in case. We saw you and your brother on the news with the other Human, and realized you were from a different Underground. They referred to you as Papyrus and Sans then and before you ask, we’d already changed our names before you came to the surface. When we came to this town, actually, and if you ask me why, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. Sometimes in Backwater, certain things simply make sense. One day, everyone started calling me Edge and that’s who I’ve been since.”

He stretched his long legs out in front of him, his slim, bare feet next to Stretch’s grubby sneakers. Edge’d changed out of his grimy gardening clothes before dinner into a fresh t-shirt, still only plain black but the way it clung to his ribcage and along the line of his broad shoulders was worth a second look. His jeans, too, and Stretch was hyper aware of his own baggie shorts and t-shirt that declared he was the taco king of Minnesota, of the differences between them.

“so you already knew about me,” Stretch said, “i mean, before i got here.” There was an unfair advantage if he’d ever heard one. 

“In the abstract, yes,” Edge shrugged. “It didn’t seem very important until you showed up in my brother’s living room and tried to hit me with a lamp.”

Fair. Stretch looked back at their feet, at the visibly healed cracks in Edge’s metatarsals, nothing at all like his own undamaged bones. He understood the multiverse theory, wasn’t exactly that complicated. In theory, he and Edge were different version of the same person, each another facet to a complex jewel; that was the theory, anyway. After hanging out with Sans and Papyrus, Stretch had a few theories of his own and the most important one was one he wanted to be sure Edge understood. 

“you aren’t really me, you know that, right? not _me_ me.” It seemed important to him that Edge knew that or maybe Stretch had it backwards, maybe it should be that he wasn’t Edge, since Edge was here first by several years. He sort of had dibs, didn’t he.

For some reason, that statement made one corner of Edge’s mouth curled up in a smirk. “That seems rather obvious,” Edge said dryly. “For one, as fascinating as you seem to find my jeans, you wouldn’t fit in them very well.”

“no!” Stretch sputtered, holy shit, abort, abort, do not look at his hips right now, do _not_ do it, “i mean in the context of the multiverse! like how chara and frisk are alike, right? they look alike, but believe you me, chara ain’t like frisk. you and me, we might’ve had the same names once, but we aren’t the same, not really.”

“Chara and Frisk have some ten years of distance between their ages that might account for that,” Edge pointed out, “but I’m no scientist, not even on the weekends. It isn’t me you should be discussing this with.”

Then who…? “i’ve got some data to back it up, i’ve met someone else from another multiverse, you know. two someones, other versions of…well…us.”

Well, now, looked like it was Edge’s turn for a shock, how about that, nice to see it on someone else’s face for a change. “You have?”

“yeah. another set of Sans-and-Papyrus skeleton brothers ended up with us before we ever got the surface. they wanted to stay out of the news and the queen let ‘em.” Stretch shrugged, “i don’t know all their story, they don’t like to talk about it. but it’s been a couple years since they showed up and we definitely aren’t very similar past being skeletons and having brothers.” For one, Blue might not cook as well as Edge, but at least his spaghetti never landed anyone in the hospital with acute food poisoning like some other skeletons who would not be named _coughpapyruscough._

But Edge didn’t seem interested in another set of skeleton brothers to add to the collection, not even in the interest of making a full six-pack. He’d shifted to his knees and faced Stretch, his sockets wide, “There’s another Human that fell, then? Into their Underground?” Edge asked, urgently.

“probably, but not that came with them,” Stretch shook his head, “i. uh. i get the feeling their story is a little like yours, only more so and a lot more recent.”

That urgency faded. “Ah.” Edge settled back to sit on the step again. “I see.” 

Stretch didn’t ask why Edge was so interested in there being another Human kid, that was a surefire way to wander off the path, but he made a mental note about it. “what i’m getting at is, you knew who i was when you first saw me. what i was.” 

“I’m hardly going to mistake the framework of my own face.”

Yeah, see, that was another mark in the column of the differences between the ‘verses not simply being nature vs nurture, but them being different people entirely despite the whole names-and-also-skeleton thing, ‘cause Stretch had been looking at his own face in the mirror for a long damn time and he didn’t look like Edge, fuck no, he’d be the first person to know if he was that gorgeous. 

Probably better not to bring that up. “and you guys have been here on the surface for ten years now, taking care of the town, and you never tried to contact anyone?”

Edge only shrugged. “What was the point? It isn’t as if we actually knew any of you. I expected that more Monsters would find us eventually and you did.”

“yeah, by accident.”

Edge slanted him another look, coolly raising a browbone, “You’ve been in Backwater a little while now. Do you truly believe you’re here completely by accident?”

Yeah, okay, that was a pretty good point. “but if you were expecting other monsters to show up eventually, then why didn’t you want me to stay?”

“Maybe because my brother was very quick to adopt a person who is wearing something like my face?” That stung and Stretch looked away, his fingers going helplessly stiff in their shared grip. “Or maybe because the longer you stay, the less likely you’ll be able to leave,” Edge sighed. “That’s how Backwater is.”

“wait.” Hold on, back that up. “you can’t leave?”

“I didn’t say that.” Yeah, and that was a backpedal if Stretch ever heard one. “Frisk has willingly tied their life to this town, and I’m sworn to protect them. I can hardly do that from another city.”

“but nothing is physically stopping you from leaving.” Because if the corn was gonna sprout little legs and come after him if he drank the water here too long, that would be important information to have. 

“Where would I go?” Edge countered. “Back to Ebott? Unlike my brother and I, you have ties there. We do not and I’ve very little interest in revisiting the mountain ten years away from it. I have everything I’ve ever needed right here and as for wants, I’ve long since accepted the truth.”

There was a certain bitterness there and Stretch should let it go, he’d already poked that wound enough. He should, but he still ended up asking, softly, “what truth?”

“That sometimes people don’t get what’s coming to them.” The words were so loaded that Stretch winced and hunched down, almost expecting to hear a gunshot. Instead, Edge sighed, let his anger go on an exhaled breath and he sounded calmer as he asked, “Now you’ve heard my secrets. What about you?”

“me?” Stretch snorted. He kept his gaze on the flowerbeds, tracing the flat round stones of the path, and did not meet Edge’s crimson gaze. “heh, you guys are determined to ferret something out, aren’t you. i keep telling you, i don’t have any secrets. my boyfriend dumped me, and it brought me down, couldn’t get past it, so i left town. ended up here…i should be writing this down, it’s like the start of a country song. shame i don’t have a truck.”

“You’d look terrible in a cowboy hat. And your soul?” Edge asked, gentle but implacable. 

“that’s not a secret,” Stretch muttered, “i just don’t want to talk about it.” He’d talked about it plenty back in Ebott, for all the good it did him, and he’d hoped to leave those chats behind when he got on the bus.

“Fair enough,” Edge tugged on his hand suddenly, pulling Stretch to his feet, “Come on.” 

He barely gave Stretch a minute to catch his balance before he started to run, heedless of his bare feet as Stretch stumbling on after him. His brief, absurd surge of fear that they were, ‘oh, fuck, running _from_ something,’ faded as Edge laughed aloud, pulling him past trees and through flowerbeds, around the corner of the house into the backyard again. Off to the side of the garden beneath a large tree was a massive pile of fallen leaves in a messy sprawl of browns and golds, and Stretch only realized what Edge intended when it was too late to stop him, barely stuttering out a “wait--!” before he leapt and yanked Stretch along with him.

They landed together in a cacophony of brittle crunching and the blinding, whispering surge of leaves launching into the air. Stretch sputtered and flailed, wallowing in the pile that was somehow soft and weirdly crisp at the same time, billowing around him as he floundered. 

Somehow, he managed to find out which way was upright again and burst out on the surface, swimming through leaves, and through the madness, he could hear Edge laughing, that deep, rich voice sharing out happiness. For the first time in what felt like an endless dry spell, his soul felt like it was full, joy pouring into it, filling up the empty space in his chest. 

“you’re crazy,” Stretch laughed, spitting out a leaf, and watched as Edge flopped back in the leaves, arms and legs moving and sending up another wild swirl of crunchy browns and golds. 

“Perhaps,” Edge called, raising his voice over the cronch. “But I made you smile.”

“the technique could use work, but i can’t argue with the results.” He looked up and for the first time, Stretch noticed that not all the trees here were loaded with green. His grin slowly faded. “the leaves are falling.”

“Yes,” Edge’s smile eased down, understanding dawning, and he shuffled through the leaves to Stretch, reaching for him, “It’s a late summer heat right now, but yes. The corn is ripe, autumn is coming and soon.”

Autumn was coming, too fast, and there was nothing Stretch could do to stop it, but that didn’t mean he had to let it go. He was a little sick of letting things just happen around him and Backwater was getting him into the habit of doing something about it. “i want to see edgar allen again. you think if i went back to the field, the corn would give me a pass?”

“I think that a visit can be arranged without that being an issue.” Between the two of them, they managed to wade out of the pile onto solid ground, both of them shedding leaves as Edge headed back into the garden. He skirted the wall of sunflowers, leading Stretch deeper into the rows. Right into a small patch of corn, the tips of the leaves already yellowed and curling. 

Stretch stopped abruptly, his sneakers sinking into the soft soil as he stared, “is that…?” In the middle of the little field there was a scarecrow hanging from a crossbar. It looked exactly like Edgar Allen, from the greasepaint face down to the plaid shirt, only now, there was a scarf looped around his neck, the very same one Stretch left in offering.

“It is,” Edge agreed softly. “He is every scarecrow. They awaken when needed or summoned.” He gave Stretch a nudge, hard enough for him to stumble forward a step deeper into the field. “Talk to him. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Talk to him. Right. Stretch swallowed hard, trying to shuffle aside his sudden misgivings. His voice creaked like a rusty hinge as he managed a weak, “edgar?

Then he watched, fascinated. He could nearly see the life filling those limp limbs, the burlap sack of his head lifting as he raised it, and he knew the exact moment Edgar caught sight of Stretch in front of him. 

“Well, hey pal! Good ta see ya!” That croaky voice was the same as Stretch remembered and he smiled helplessly, watching Edgar unwind an arm from the bar that held him up to touch the bandana around his neck, “Wanted ta thank ya for the new gear!”

“it looks good on you,” Stretch managed. The turkey-red fabric was bright against the faded plaid of his shirt and Stretch wondered how long it would take for the sun to bleach it out. Would there even be time before Edgar…ended? Did his clothes vanish with him or was he left out in the field to rot after his seasonal duty? He didn’t know and found he didn’t want to ask. For fuck’s sake, Stretch barely even knew the guy, if he _was_ a guy, and still his soul heavy with sorrow.

“Corn thought so, too,” Edgar Allen said gleefully. “Nattered on ‘bout it for hours. Kept me awake for an age, I tell ya.” For all that his face never changed from that greasepaint sneer, Stretch could almost feel the sudden surge of sleepiness rising in the air, the way Edgar took hold of his support again, and slumped back down, “Still restin’ up from it. Thanks, again. See ya around, pal, give me a call if ya need me?”

“i will,” Stretch said and as he watched, that animation faded, life seeping away and leaving behind a nothing but straw-filled bundle of clothes. 

A gentle hand settled on his shoulder and Stretch turned to look at Edge, trying to swallow down the thickness of absurd grief in his throat. He’d met Edgar Allen for a total of ten minutes, tops, and it still hurt.

“It’s difficult for him to stay awake when he isn’t needed,” Edge told him softly.

“yeah,” Stretch managed, blinking hard, his sockets aching. “he’ll be dying in a few weeks.”

“Yes, for the season,” Edge agreed, “It’s not really a death, but it is something like it.”

“that sucks, big time.” He understood it, sure, the whole ghost of gyftmas present sort of visit. Didn’t make it suck any less. 

“He’s earned his rest and his spirit will return. Perhaps in the spring you can came back to Backwater and meet his recreation.” Edge held out a hand and after swiping angrily at his sockets, Stretch took it, folding their fingers together again. “Come on, it’s starting to get dark.”

It was, Stretch saw dismally, the sunlight creeping through the trees faded and soft with oncoming dusk. He’d already been here a helluva lot longer than he’d meant and it might be an interesting trip back to Red’s if he didn’t hurry; he’d be wandering off the path simply because he couldn’t see the damn thing and he really didn’t feel up to testing the monster bear theory, not today.

The two of them hurried their way back around front. He’d left his bike on the side of the driveway and before Stretch could reach it, the hand in his that had been faithfully leading him all afternoon betrayed him. Suddenly, Stretch found himself yanked around, a tree trunk hard beneath his back. 

He looked up with wide sockets and all he could see Edge looming in front of him, stark crimson eye lights boring into his own and arms braced against the tree on either side of him. They weren’t touching, not quite, but he was close, so close Stretch could feel the warmth pouring off of him and it was ridiculous that it made him shiver in the waning heat of the day, an uneasy trill tickling its way up his spine. Something that was not fear was swelling inside him, not fear at all. 

“What is it about you?” Edge said abruptly. His eye lights were burning, bright coals in his dark, narrowed sockets. 

“what do you—” Stretch started, too weak and a little lost. 

He broke off on a confused sound as Edge leaned in suddenly, tried to jerk back but there was nowhere to go as Edge murmured close to Stretch’s audial canal, his breath damp, nearly as solid as a physical touch, “If you think I haven’t noticed your attraction to me, you may wish to redefine the word subtle.” 

“uhhhh.” Not that it wasn’t true but getting called out on it _right now_ was a little unexpected, hell, he hadn’t even been looking at Edge’s ass this time. Any reasonable answer slipped away from his fumbling reach. “that’s…i mean…”

“It’s not that you’re unappealing, but as you’ve said several times, you’re getting over a breakup.” A gentle thumb slid along his cheekbone in defiance of what Edge was saying, making Stretch suck in a sharp gasp of breath.

‘Not unappealing.’ Wasn’t exactly a glowing endorsement but eh, reviews didn’t always match the product.

“yeah,” Stretch said inanely. “yeah, i am.” As if that meant anything, as if he could even think of anything outside this singular moment. Edge was so close to him, the lines of their bodies separated by bare inches as Stretch breathed out a faint, “sorry.”

He didn’t even know what he was apologizing for. 

“I’m not. You aren’t alone in this,” Edge exhaled a soft half-laugh. “I’ve felt an attraction to you since the moment you tried to hit me with that damn lamp. But that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”

“yeah, uh,” Stretch swallowed hard, trying to add some starch to his voice, but it was so damned hard (fuck, don’t think _that_ , don’t, shuffle that pun right to the end of the queue). Edge was so close, and the bark of the tree was rough through the back of his t-shirt, lightly digging into his ribcage like a goad, urging him to move, to step forward, to complete that circuit. Stretch didn’t move. “i mean, the way the multiverse theory goes, i’m sort of you. or you’re me. something like that.”

A low chuckle filled the air between them and Stretch closed his sockets, holy fuck, that voice rumbled through him like a miniature earthquake, “That isn’t what I meant at all. You don’t want to talk about your past and that’s fine. But that doesn’t mean the effects don’t linger.” The very tip of Edge’s nasal nodule brushed the side of Stretch’s skull as he sniffed delicately, his warm breath gusting. 

Slim fingertips came to rest on his sternum over his damage soul and that single light touch affected him more than the entire groping session in the library. “I can smell your pain, such a deep hurt in your soul. I don’t want to make it worse.” 

“edge,” Stretch whispered, closed his sockets against the answering whisper of his own name. There was the slightest pressure of a knee against his own and the temptation was there to spread his legs, to give it a place to rest, and he shouldn’t, _they_ shouldn’t, but that warning voice was getting softer, distant, caught by a shepherd’s hook and hauled off the stage. He’d gone through half a dozen shocks since he woke up this morning, added them to the pile he'd gotten since he’d stepped off that bus. What was one more?

“I know all of that. I know it. So why am I so drawn to you?” Edge murmured distractedly, “What is it about you? Why can’t I leave you alone?” He reeled back, shaking his head as if to clear it, then, nearly pleading, “Don’t let me hurt you.” 

A warning, a plea tangled together as one, and Stretch lurched after him, arms reaching with purely reckless intent, “you won’t, you aren’t, don’t go—"

The sudden klaxon of a horn made them jerk apart, Edge stumbling back and putting space between them. Stretch looked up see a rusty old pickup truck making its bumpy way down the path, coming to a stop with a wheezy squeal of brakes. 

They watched it together, Edge with tight annoyance creasing his face and Stretch with panting confusion, struggling to get his breathing under control. It turned out to be a hell of a lot easier when the window rolled down the window and Red poked his head out, like getting doused with a bucket of ice water as he called with deliberate cheer, “hey, you two.”

“Brother,” Edge said, the greeting coming from between clenched teeth.

“you have a car?” Stretch asked, outraged. Shame was taking a hasty backseat because holy shit, he’d spent all afternoon on that bike when Red already had a set of wheels?

Red only grinned, a slash of a smile with his golden tooth winking in the dwindling light. “nah, i got a truck.”

“you never said!”

“you never asked,” Red countered. “it was gettin’ late and i got worried. didn’t want ya trying to scooter your way home in the dark, ya didn’t add a headlight to that rustbucket. toss the bike in the back and hop in.”

It wasn’t a question and yeah, somehow, he didn’t think Red was gonna buy that he and Edge were only talking, not this time.

Stretch felt a guilty flush heat his cheekbones, meekly obeying. It was for the best, he told himself, holy shit, yes, he should be grateful that Red showed up when he did, no matter what kind of protest his crotch was currently bleating up at him. The last thing he needed right now was any other attachments and not only because he felt like getting into another relationship right around never, (yeah, never worked for him) and rebound sex with the boss’s little brother was supposed to be off the table. 

Getting into anything past friendship with Edge was a Bad Idea all the way around, ‘cause when it came down to it, Edgar Allen wasn’t the only person leaving, now was he. Stretch didn’t want to think about it, kept trying to avoid it, but the knowledge still came up in the back of his head, readying itself to bite him in the ass. 

Eventually, Stretch was gonna have to find his own way home.

* * *

tbc


	15. First Step

* * *

As hot as the days were, these last, lingering sticky days of summer, the nights in Backwater tended to cool off as soon as the sun began to dip below the horizon. 

It made for a good time to sit out on the back porch for a quick smoke. Usually only tobacco, Stretch didn’t have Red’s resilience when it came to getting up the next day after smoking his atom bomb version of weed. The last thing he wanted was to give the local kids their first view of an ugly hangover, he’d leave that sort of education for their parents to dole out. 

Most of the time, Stretch kept it to one cigarette. His first paycheck was better than he’d expected but it was still wiser to be frugal, so he stuck with his one cig and tried not to think about how that would have pleased his brother. Blue’d been trying to get him to quit for years now and in the past months whenever his bro brought it up, his ex always chimed in with a similar opinion on it, both of them citing statistics as if they were practicing for a damned public service announcement.

Quitting his smokes was something Stretch resisted for no damn good reason other than he didn’t _want_ to quit, thanks, sorry for him trying to adult a little around here. All the nagging did was take the joy out of it and left him smoking out of resentment rather than recreation. Cutting down to one a day was milestone he’d never managed to get to back in Ebott. Not even when the Docs told him it might help with—well. 

Anyway, tonight he’d decided to indulge himself; after the day he’d had, he figured he deserved to go through a whole damn pack.

The porch light was a stark, sodium-yellow and the furniture cast strange shadows in it, bones of the true darkness that lay beyond. Stretch sprawled out on the dusty old sofa, blowing lazy smoke rings up at the overhang covering the porch and occasionally tapping ash into the rusty old Maxwell coffee can that Red kept around as an ashtray. The other skeleton had already gone inside, and the living room windows were dark, a pretty big clue that he’d probably already headed off to bed. Early for him, but, eh, Stretch figured he’d had a hell of a day, too, and his guilt over his own involvement in that sat in his chest like a lead brick.

At his feet, the dog curled up in a tight little donut of fluff and Stretch absently pet him with his bare foot, wincing as strands of hair caught in his bony joints. The dog didn’t seem to care about the little yanks and tugs, only huffed out a contented sigh, pushing demandingly into the touch. 

“dunno if you deserve pats,” Stretch told him absently. He tried for something resembling stern, though he didn’t stop petting, “you weren’t being too friendly out at edge’s place.” 

The dog only snorted and rolled to his side, giving Stretch access to his belly for more rubs.

Stretch hadn’t even realized Red brought the dog along at first. Not until he hauled his bike over to truck bed, still flustered over the almost-could be-kinda-a-something that his boss/landlord’s timely arrival interrupted. Before he could even start heaving the bike in, the dog popped up like a slobbery jack in the box and began attacking Stretch’s face with kisses.

“wha—stop, you shit!” Stretch sputtered, laughing and trying to fend off the dog’s eager advances. The bike was heavier than a normal one and awkward to hold, and between that and the doggy love attack, Stretch lost his grip. The handbars swung into the side of the truck and shrieked their way down in a scrape of metal against metal as it fell, the rest of it finishing off with a loud clang. Not that it did any damage; Red’s truck probably only qualified as one by a technicality, held together by vague hopes, rust, and the liberal use of miles of duct tape.

Behind Stretch, Edge spoke up, “Here, let me help.” But the moment he stepped forward, the dog’s excited wriggling screeched to a halt and morphed into stillness couched with a sudden, unexpected growl. 

“woah, hey, boy,” Stretch said with surprised caution. The dog hadn’t even growled when those guys in town were trying to use him as a pinata, too scared, maybe, but Edge wasn’t a threat so why the hell—

A low, deep throated snarl came from behind Stretch and the dog yelped, ducking down into the truck bed, cowering. Stretch whipped around to stare at Edge in disbelief, okay, yeah, that one wasn’t on his bingo card for weird happenings. "did you just _growl_ at my dog?"

Edge only looked back steadily, "You have to assert dominance."

Well, uh, that was…it did seem to work, sort of. The dog chose that moment to abandon ship, scrambling up and wriggling through the little back window that led into the cab to curl up against Red. The moment he was safe, he looked at Stretch and Edge with wounded betrayal, like he hadn’t started it, the little shit.

Good thing the dog didn’t know what the memory of that growl was doing to the inside of Stretch’s pants, (fucking _rawr_ ). The pooch would never forgive him. 

“quit traumatizing mutt," Red snorted. He ruffled the dog’s ears soothingly and the pup settled, resting his chin on Red’s femur as he looked up with a mournful ‘the big kids are pickin’ on me’ expression. "c'mon, armstrong, let’s hit the road, s’getting dark."

That woke Stretch up from his dual versions of shock and unf!shock. He grunted with the effort of heaving the bike into the truck bed, mumbling a grateful ‘thank you’ when a second pair of strong hands helped out, and he really, really tried not to feel the way Edge was pressed up against his back, a line of warm moving against him as both of them settling the bike securely in. It was only when Edge stepped back and took his fatal distraction with him that something clicked. 

Wait. Not _the_ mutt, but—

Stretch stuck his head in through the open window, looking at the skeleton and his dog, who pointedly weren’t looking back. “you named the dog mutt?”

“didn’t name it anything,” Red scoffed. He scruffed the dog, whose name was totally Mutt, gently. 

“technicalities won’t save you,” Stretch told him gleefully, “there was a list on the counter, you had options, and you still named the dog…dog.”

That got finally got him a look, or more precisely, a glare. “could always let you walk home.”

That was true. Stretch abandoned ribbing without even getting to pun about it and climbed hastily into the truck. The door hinge squalled when he pulled open the door, flakes of rust falling in a shower as he slammed it shut. No wonder Red didn’t drive around much if this was his primary vehicle, but in the interest of not getting kicked out, Stretch decided it would be for the best to not bring up the rubber banded pile of newspapers Red was sitting on. He definitely wasn’t gonna ask how Red was reaching the pedals.

Edge rounded the truck to Red’s side, briefly outlined in the glare of the headlights. With the remains of the sun at his back, his eye lights were stark in the growing darkness. Bright crimson glaring in at his brother as he stood next to the truck, his arms crossed over his chest. “You could always come in for coffee.”

It wasn’t a question and Red didn’t answer it. “tell the kid i said hi.”

Edge replied tartly. “Tell them yourself.”

“heh.” A strange laugh, humorless and somehow still tinged with amusement. “see ya around, bro.”

Yeah, there was some kind of story there, all right, and Stretch was the guy who waited too long at the concession stand and came into the play during Act 3.

There was only one person who might give him any answers, since two-thirds of the people involved already turned him down and it was the same guy who didn’t even give Edge a chance to say goodbye, only threw the truck into reverse and with a clumsy three-point turn that barely avoided any of the flowerbeds, they were headed back down path that led to town, out of the woods. 

The ride back wasn’t exactly quiet, the bumpy road and rattling complaints of the truck took care of that. But it was wordless, for a while. Until they got closer to the main road and the bumps smoothed out a little, droning hum of tires on asphalt an invitation.

“red—” Stretch started, slowly. He wasn’t even sure what he was gonna say yet, uncertain if he really wanted any other revelations tonight. He was feeling a little epiphanied out. 

Red only sighed deeply, “pretty sure you, the kid, and my bro had a helluva chat, you sure you really wanna talk to me about it now?”

No. Yes. “maybe?”

The newspapers under him made a dry shuffling sound as Red shifted his weight to change gears. “one question, kid, that’s all i got answers for. choose wisely.”

Great, now he was on an impromptu grail quest. 

Stretch hesitated over his options; there were so many, how could he pick only one? Like, why didn’t Red live with Edge and Frisk, why had he refused to even go into the house, and what the hell was up with Edge being so salty about it? Hell, there were deeper question than that, if he wanted to dig. How had they gotten out of their Underground to here, what happened to Red’s leg, so many whats and wheres and whys. 

A look at Red showed he was grinding his teeth, his crimson eye lights focused solely on the road and at the end of the day, there was only one question Stretch really needed an answer to tonight, for reasons he desperately didn’t want to talk about.

He ran his tongue over his teeth nervously, looking down at his hands in his lap rather than the passing blur of road in the headlights out the windshield. “you knew who i was when you first saw me here, didn’t you. edge said you watched the tv when we first came to the surface.”

The joints in his hands creaked as they went tight on the steering wheel and Red exhaled with weary slowness. “yeah, i knew.” He slanted a brief glance at Stretch, eye lights flicking between him and the road. “gave me a hell of a start, don’t mind tellin’ ya. you were busy chasin’ beer cans and didn’t notice me almost fallin’ on my ass.”

“that’s why you helped me, isn’t it, when i first came to town?” The accusation that Red ‘adopted’ him because he looked like Edge stung, but it was true enough, wasn’t it. Someone with his kid brother’s face, someone to feed and clothe and take care of, like he couldn’t with his own bro for whatever their secret reasons were. Like he was a fucking pet, another dog, woof woof, and the care that seemed so genuine that morning felt suddenly tainted, as stifling as his own brother’s.

“heh,” Red’s mouth twisted into a sneering smile, “kid, come on.”

Stretch said nothing. He could see the neon sign from ‘The Whistling Cow’ slowly approaching, looming closer, blurring in his vision and there was no subtle way to wipe at his sockets, he could only do it quickly and hope it wasn’t noticed. 

A failed hope, like most. Red made an impatient sound, loud enough that the dog sleeping his lap stirred, then he said roughly. “yeah, okay, you reminded me some of my little brother, but that ain’t why i let you stay.”

 _Let it go, let it go, Elsa, you don’t have anywhere else_ to _go._ “then why?”

“‘cause i like ya, that’s why!” Red snarled. His ever-present grin curled into a grimace, tight and strained, each word as sharp as one of his jagged teeth. “been rattling around alone in this old shop for awhile now. been kinda nice to have someone under _foot_ , since i ain’t got goddamn feet. good enough?”

“yes,” Stretch admitted, a threadbare little word. It was, helped ease some of the pained tightness surrounding his soul to know that Red wasn’t simply another person who wanted to be around him not out of friendship, but mere circumstance. He’d had plenty of that in his life and all it left him with was an empty contact list on his phone and an emptier ache in his soul.

He startled at a hand awkwardly touching his own, bony fingers briefly squeezing before they withdrew. “stretch? you and my bro ain’t nothin’ alike. c’n trust me on that much.”

“is that good or bad,” Stretch couldn’t help asking. He thought of the little borrowed room he was sleeping in at night, his part time job hawking groceries, of Edge’s home in the woods with its beautiful gardens and delicious meals. 

Red shrugged. He turned the wheel, guiding the truck into a parking spot that was nearly hidden on the other side of the shop. “beats the fuck out of me, just is, and it don’t matter, anyway. don’t care what the charts and graphs and shit say, ain’t no reason to compare ya. ya ain’t the same person. you’re you and bein’ you should be good enough for anyone.”

The engine ticked slowly as it cooled and Stretch thought of the way their landlord back in Ebott kept mistaking him for Papyrus, of getting bitched at once for a window he hadn’t broken or thanked for muffins he hadn’t brought. Not anybody or nobody, only himself, at least here in Backwater. “thanks.”

“s’fine,” Red grunted. “just don’t forget i ain’t _your_ bro.”

“oh, fuck, no,” Stretch blurted out. He winced as he realized how that sounded. “i mean, you’re more like a mom, anyway.”

“heh,” That laugh was more a little more genuine, not much, but it was something. “fuck you.”

“nah, that wasn’t in the rental agreement.”

“and thank the fucking angel for that.” With a groan of hinges and a slam of the door, Red got out of the truck, the dog at his heels. He didn’t turn back to see if Stretch was with him, only went as fast as he could, cane swishing at his side as he practically ran into the house, the screen door banging shut behind him. 

Stretch followed more slowly, stopping off at the porch and that was where he stayed, thinking about having a cigarette and not at all about giving Red some time to himself after having the asshole he was trying to help question his motives, exactly like an asshole would. 

Mutt hesitated, debating for a minute over choosing between them before finally decided that Stretch was the victor, and whether or not that was because he thought Stretch needed watching over more didn’t matter. Stretch appreciated the company, anyway.

That left him here, smoking and watching moths flutter suicidally close around the porch light. 

Stretch dropped a used butt into the coffee can and debated lighting another. On one hand, he was starting to feel a little nauseous from so much smoking, on the other, he sort of wanted to feel nauseous. Wanted to feel _something_ that he could name.

What was the proper term for how to feel when you were living in a weird town with alternate version of yourself and your bro, which, by the way, one out of the two has been crawling up your top ten list of spank bank partners? If there was a definition for it, it was gonna take more than a quick google search to ferret it out. 

He still hadn’t decided whether or not to light another when at his feet, the dog suddenly lifted his head, ears perking up.

“what is it, boy?” Stretch leaned up on his elbow, squinting out into the darkness outside the protective ring of porch light. “if this is about a kid in a well, you can tell timmy he’ll have to wait, this is not a good time—hey!”

A threatening line of fur rose up on the dog’s back as he let out a low, deep woof, nothing like the little growl at Edge earlier. Before Stretch could grab for him, Mutt was scrambling to his feet. He leapt off the porch and ran off into the night, fuck, in the direction of the forest.

“hey, wait! no, no, no, damn it!” Stretch shoved his feet into his shoes, wincing at the friction and almost immediately tripping over the laces. “not that way!” 

There was barely time to hope he didn’t break his damn leg as he chased after the dog, following the little puff of whiteness through the dark as he tried not to go facefirst into anything. It was sheer luck there weren’t many obstacles in the path; town was in the opposite direction and there was nothing much behind the shop but parched earth and dead grass. Right up until the edge of the woods where saplings rose up in clusters, little ponds of greenery that led to the ocean of trees and that was where Stretch skidded to a halt, watching helplessly as that patch of white disappeared into the darkness. 

Yeah, okay, he wasn’t about to go in the woods, ignoring warnings around this place was bad for life expectancy and Stretch wasn’t the kind of guy who’d feed weird critters after midnight. 

“fuck, fuck,” Stretch muttered under his breath, pacing right outside the treeline and slapping away any sapling that tried to get in his way as he wracked his brain for what the hell he could do now.

Maybe if he stood outside and shouted at the damn mutt, he’d at least have something to follow back out. He wasn’t sure there was much else he could do, the townsfolk were nice, but he didn’t think asking them out for a midnight search party for a dog would go over very well. 

Overhead, the bloated circle of the moon faded in and out from behind the clouds. He didn’t even have his phone, it was still in his bag on the porch, safely beneath that splash of light that seemed so far away now. Stretch dug into his pocket for his lighter, the rasp loud over the faint rustling of leaves overhead. It flared to life and the tiny flame barely illuminating the space around him, but it was better than nothing.

“mutt?” Stretch called tentatively, then more coaxingly, “c’mon boy, come back out!” He tried a few iterations of that with increasingly sappy endearments, feeling as stupid as he had when he’d tried them on his ex. The dog responded about as well, stubbornly refusing to bow to any version of baby, sweetums, or snooky that Stretch tried. 

“damn it all to hell,” Stretch cursed softly. First, he’d gotten caught nearly macking on Red’s little brother when he’d said he wouldn’t, not a broken promise but still, then he’d blunder into giving Red’s traumas a quick poke, and now he’d lost the dog that he’d only just gotten for Red. He was obviously already pretty attached to the so-named Mutt and after hearing him vague about how he’d been lonely, it wasn’t much of a surprise. 

But going into the woods after him felt a hell of a lot like making a bad situation worse. 

Stretch sighed heavily. Nope, better not to chance it. Maybe if he brought out a bowl of food, the dumb mutt would smell it and head for home and—wait.

…what was that? Stretch tipped his head to the side, straining to listen. 

He hadn’t really even noticed that soft sound at its beginning, the soft lilt of a melody winding its way through branches and leaves out of the woods, a song he almost but didn’t quite know. It was the seductive peal of a silver laugh of delight, it was the delicate caress of the wind, the chuckling burble of a cool stream pouring invitingly over smooth rocks, and the intangible caress of unearthly desires.

It was the alluring sweetness of a siren, the song of a temptress calling one who was no sailor into a dry sea and doom. 

His vision was cast into paleness like the bloom of the moonlight, filling him to the brim until nothing was left within but that endless song. Without a single thought of his own left crowded in amongst the tangled notes in his head taking mastery over him, Stretch took his first dazed step into the woods.

* * *

tbc


	16. Into the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where was the one place that Red told Stretch not to go? Right.

* * *

Thin branches caught at Stretch as he slowly stumbled his way through the darkened woods. Twigs catching at his sleeves and scraping at his bare ankles as if trying to hold him back. He ignored it, ignored the annoyance and the scratches they left behind. One snagged and held until his t-shirt tore under the strain and still, he walked, following that faint, sweet song. 

In front him of sparks seemed to form from nothingness, flickering lights dancing right before his eye sockets. Beneath the gauzy layers muffling his consciousness were vague thoughts of old legends from Waterfall about ghost lights that led travelers down wrong paths to their deaths, drowning them in still hidden pools where even their bones would never be found. 

He remembered telling those stories to Blue at bedtime, whispering those haunted tales and then pouncing on his brother when he’d least expect it. Drawing out shrieks and laughter, his delight worth ending up with a little bro sleeping next to him in his bed that night after a nightmare. 

He remembered it all and still he did not, could not, stop walking. It all seemed dreamy and distant, felt like his feet didn't belong to him, only vehicles carrying him deeper into the shadows beneath the heavy boughs rustling above. The lights seem bigger now, the sparks collecting together and forming into a larger shape. He couldn’t quite tell what it was, it was fluid, changing even as he looked right at it. 

For the first few steps, thin moonlight glinted through the branches. No longer, every stride carried him deeper where even the moon couldn't penetrate. The only light was the face in front of him and when had it become a face? Stretch wasn’t sure, but he followed it, fascinated by her parted lips where that song formed and was cast out between them, drowning in it as surely as those who lost their way in Waterfall. 

Her face was as white as the moon’s, surrounded by a cloud of long, pale hair, nothing more than a face that hovered out of his dreamy reach. He kept walking, following along with the double enchantment of that voice and face, even though that vision began to blur, melting like candlewax into something else entirely. Beneath the veneer of loveliness something was hidden, awfulness lurking under the surface, rotten with sharp teeth. The head hung in the air in front of him and slowly he was beginning to see what was dangling under it. Glinting wetly was no body at all but horrific, dripping entrails that heaved with every croon of song. 

He could see it, yet even as something deep within his soul was howling in terror and beating against the bars of his mind, he only felt a sense of numb lethargy. That song ended and he only stood there, blinking dumbly and yearning for its return. She reached out to touch him, her spindly fingers tipped with long, curling claws, and he didn’t flinch as they brushed his cheekbone, caught him under the chin to yank his head painfully up.

“Too old.” Even those few words were sonorous, as lilting as a lute. That beautiful voice warmed him, so lovely, the most gorgeous thing he’d ever heard and the disappointment it held made him want to weep. He might have cast himself at her feet to plead forgiveness if not for her ruthless grip on his chin. She let out a disgruntled hiss, low and sibilant, “Much too old…a Monster? No blood, no flesh, no bite—ah, but wait.” She leaned in, sniffing delicately and something about that was familiar, something— “but you have magic, plenty of sweet, delicious magic.” She smiled and he stared dreamily at the rows of razor-sharp teeth, her long tongue lolling out and leaving a sheen of dark saliva on her lips. “You’ll do.”

It was only when she came closer and he could smell the fetid stink of her breath that a worm of panic finally wriggled its way through his calm. Gone was the angelic aura, her appearance twisting instead into that of a haggard ghoul, an anglerfish dangling her lure. He could smell blood and decay, and something worse, rotting meat and vinegar.

Her jaw seemed to unhinge, showing a gaping maw wide enough to swallow him whole, her gullet a deep, moldering gray that exhaled a fresh stink of vinegar, and he still couldn’t move, his silent shrieks only in his own mind as she drew him closer. 

As she reeled him in, a loud, cracking sound filled the clearing, a splintered branch falling heavily to the ground. It broke whatever spell that held him and with a violent wrench, Stretch tore away from her, turning and running in a blind panic. He couldn’t see, crashing painfully through the trees in front of him but he could hear and behind him was something else tearing through the branches and tree trunks. 

Stretch didn’t dare look back, he only ran, all the panic he couldn't feel earlier boiling up in him. He wasn’t even sure if he was going the right way, lost in a panicked flight away from whatever was following him. Reaching for his magic was pure instinct, for an attack, a shortcut, anything at all. He nearly gagged at the agonizing burn as it rejected him yet again, a splintering throb of pain jabbing into his temples. 

He stumbled over his own feet and nearly fell, skittering in damp leaves and barely caught his balance enough to keep running, tearing through the whipping bushes, thin branches snapping around him. There was no time, nothing he could but let loose the screams denied to him earlier as something heavy caught him right between the shoulder blades and sent him sprawling to the ground, knocking the breath out of him.

“no!” Stretch panted out, clawing at the dirt, fallen leaves scattering as he tried to crawl free, grasping at weeds that pulled up uselessly from the soft ground. “no, no, no.” His voice rose into a panicked scream that only cut off when he was abruptly rolled onto his back. He cringed, expecting to feel needle sharp teeth sinking into his skull, crunching him down in a single gulp, and his skittering regrets were only for his brother, his dear, sweet little brother worrying over him back in Ebott and who would never know what happened to him. 

Seconds ticked by and nothing happened, nothing but deep, heavy breathing coupled with the weight holding him down. 

Stretch braced himself, taking a trembling grip on his sanity as he finally opened his sockets and found himself looking up into a pair of deep red eyes set in a large white skull. Bony paws were on his ribcage, pinning him down into the leaves and dirt. The creature was skeletal, like him, but like no skeleton he’d ever seen. The frontal bone of its skull was ridged with bony outcropping like horns or antlers, its sockets large and slanted, and its wide mouth was set with the teeth of a canine predator. But this was no dog or wolf, nothing that belonged in the current animal index. It was something prehistoric, dragging its bones from the murky depths of time to stand above him and stare with burning crimson eyes.

Thick, damp breath whuffed into his face with blistering heat and Stretch could smell its breath. Not fetid meat, but something oddly spicy, something---

It looked him over, crimson eyes flicking down and up, and then through that mouth of sharp teeth said perfectly clearly. "Did it bite you?"

The only sound that escaped Stretch was a near wheeze, "nnnnnnn...?"

The creature snarled louder and Stretch flinched, cringing away from those jagged teeth as it demanded, louder, "Did it? _Did it bite you!"_

"n-no," he shook his head frantically. "no, no, it didn't."

“You’re sure?” Another growl, more breath scented with that strange spice and when Stretch didn’t reply, another loud, feral snarl, _“Are you sure??”_

“yes!!” Stretch screamed back, coughing on a near sob. 

The creature sagged, some of its ferocity draining into peculiar relief. Its claws dug in briefly as it moved, large paws settling on the forest floor as it released Stretch and padded away. “Don’t move,” it ordered.

He very nearly disobeyed it immediately, don’t move, what the fuck, who did Not Wolfy think he was fooling? Stretch was three seconds from fucking _gone_ when a loud, ghastly shriek came from far too close, that same unearthly voice from before.

The beast snarled again, but not at Stretch, it turned and targeted that roar in the direction of a faint, moony glow that wasn’t the moon, not at all. Stretch closed his sockets and didn’t move, shivering as the cold ground beneath him seeped into his clothes. 

There was another round of incomprehensible growls and shrieks, all too close, and exhaustion was spreading through Stretch with the cold, it all seemed like so much, too much, and all he could do was croak out a miserable, “please,”

“Be quiet!” From much closer than he’d expected, and that voice held nothing of the sibilant appeal that led him into these woods. It was deep and rough, dark as the night sky and the words bitten off on jagged edges. “Stay quiet and don’t move. Don't run, it'll only make her chase you. Give me a moment to calm her down."

More growls and shrieks filled the cold night air that seemed to count as a sort of language, and Stretch could only lie there in the surreality of two creatures of woods arguing over him. He didn’t want to look, still couldn’t help opening his sockets a bare slit to see that horrible head hovering in the air in front of the creature that was like a reverse Night Fury, all sharp teeth that snapped and clenched, their voices squabbling loudly. 

Mini-Smaug didn’t look at him, but it spoke again, low and steady. "She's angry that I am attempting to steal her rightful prey and the only reason she's not fighting for it is she hadn't bitten you yet. I told her you're mine.”

It…She? Whatever she was, she didn’t seem too happy to be giving up her midnight snack to the local dragon contingency. She huffed angrily, baring needle-sharp teeth then turned in her hovering way to vanish into the woods with a last angry shriek. 

Falkor’s evil twin watched her go, waiting until that pale unearthly glow faded entirely before turning back to Stretch and the only light in the clearing was the crimson of its eyes. 

Laying there so far from home, for the very first time Stretch wished that he’d never gotten on that bus. He didn't even have his phone to tell his brother goodbye, could taste his bitter regret from not answering any of those worried texts. He couldn't teleport, couldn’t fight. He was useless, always had been, and so too would be his death. 

He could hear footsteps moving across the clearing, soft in spite of the creature’s size. Stretch squeezed his sockets tightly shut and managed a single, desperate plea. "make it quick."

There was a significant pause, a moment of utter silence, then, "What?"

"please, make it quick," he begged. "don't drag it out. eat my soul first, get it over with." The rest of him would dissolve to dust pretty quick after but he didn't see a need to mention that. He let his soul form in his ribcage and a new silvery glow filled the small clearing, the light seeping through his thin t-shirt. Hopefully this creature wouldn’t take too close a look at it before starting its meal or else the deal might be off, and Stretch wasn’t sure he wanted to consider what might be worse. 

Silence, then the creature made a sound that Stretch slowly recognized as laughter. A strange clattering sound rose up and he opened his sockets again to see the creature rolling around in the leaves, still chuffing out great guffaws. Okay, getting eaten was bad enough, he didn’t need to be seasoned with any extra humiliation. He glared at the creature and huffed out, “what the hell is so funny?”

It rolled to its feet, clawed toes gouging into the leafy soil and returned that glare with sour amusement, "I'm not going to eat you, fool," it growled out scornfully, "The taste of idiot would spoil any meal. I told her you were _mine,_ not mine to eat."

How that sort of face could raise its brow bones suggestively, Stretch didn’t know, but it took a minute for those words to combine with that expression. When it did, his shock and fear didn’t lesson, only took on another flavor. 

"oh. oh, _yours_ …you…uh." Stretch sat there dumbly, staring at the creature with wide sockets, ‘cause holy shit, it was fucking _huge_. He wondered if he wasn’t better off getting eaten. 

The beast let out an irritated huff, its long tail lashing agitatedly. “Don’t look at me like that, I told her that to get her to leave, not because I was after a mate.”

“oh. right.” At least some part of him had already been consumed tonight, because someone had obviously already eaten whatever sense he still had rattling around. 

“She won’t bother you again, but she’s hardly the only one out here looking for an easy meal. Can you walk?” The beast sat down, tail curling around its feet, and Stretch took that moment to scramble to his.

He gave himself a once-over, wriggling his ankles and bending his knees. Everything hurt, sure, he was gonna be one huge bruise tomorrow, but nothing was broken, thank the stars. “yeah, i’m okay.”

"Good,” The beast yawned, a weirdly benign way to show off those rows of menacingly sharp teeth. “Now get out."

Get out. Right. Getting out sounded like a top-notch plan. Stretch looked around at the woods, at the trees towering over them. There was no path, just a bunch of damn trees that all looked the same in the dark. "pal, i would love to, wanna tell me how?"

The creature let out an annoyed grumble and stood, pushed past him in a rough scrape of bone, "Follow me, outsider."

Follow me. Welp, he was at least seventy percent sure this one wasn’t gonna eat him and if they bumped into anything else that might, those claws and teeth would probably dissuade them better than Stretch’s current brand of useless. Cautiously, he trailed behind the creature, two steps behind that long tail that moved with sinuous ease. He still wasn’t sure quite what this guy was, but asking seemed kinda rude, all things considered, what with the saving his life and all. Seemed like getting saved was starting to become a trend here in Backwater and it was not one Stretch liked much. Someone else needed to take a turn at playing Lois Lane because he was done with his round.

But that didn’t mean that all questions were off the table. “what was that? that…lady thing?”

The creature didn’t turn around. “She was a penanggalan.”

“well, that sure cleared things up,” Stretch muttered. He followed the creature over a fallen tree, wincing as he scraped his ankle on the bark. “how did you even pronounce that? it sounds like you gargled with broken glass and chased it down with a bottle of motor oil.”

The creature didn’t seem to care much about linguistic issues, it didn’t even look back at Stretch to make sure he was keeping up, only kept forging the trail. “Be that as it may, it is what she is.”

“evil penguin, got it.” Then warily, not sure he wanted the answer. “so what would have happened if she’d bit me. you would’ve handed me over with a bone apple tea and a napkin?”

“If she’d bitten you, I would have had to kill you.” It was said so matter-of-factly that at first it didn’t even register. 

Once it did, the new murder threat did not sit well. Stretch stopped, clapping a hand over his mouth against a sudden rush of nausea and took a stumbling step back as he stared at the creature in horror. “you…what??”

The creature paused then and this time it looked back at him, crimson eyes cutting through the blackness. “I wouldn’t have enjoyed it.”

“oh, like that’s reassuring!”

“It would have been necessary,” the creature said heavily. Their tail lashed agitatedly. “Their bite is infectious. You’d soon be covered with running sores and an insatiable urge to spread that bite to others until you died in slow agony. There is no cure, it’s generally an exceedingly rare disease. They usually eat their prey entirely.”

“oh, well, nice to see they have their own version of pandemic control!”

The creature turned away and started walking again. “Better that than the alternative.”

“so why didn’t you kill it, then?” The evil penguin was still out there looking for a snack and whoever it ran into next time probably wouldn’t be so lucky. 

The creature stopped again so suddenly that Stretch ran into it, wincing as that agitated tail lashed against him like a whip. 

“And are you one who dictates what should live and what should die?” the creature demanded. “Do others get to be predator or prey by your leave? She was hunting in the manner of her kind and you think you can demand her life as penance for that?”

“uh.” His first instinct was to say fuck, yes, but a harder look at it all made him think this guy had a point. As much as he didn’t want to be anyone’s lunch special, could he really fault another creature for simply doing what they did? It was an uncomfortable thought and maybe one he’d revisit later, but for now he only said, softly, “no. i don’t. you’re right, sorry.”

The creature stared at him with those burning eyes then swung back around and walked on, Stretch at his heels, and there didn’t seem to be anything else to say.

The walk back took longer than he expected; it was slow going, it felt like the trees were closed in around him and he kept stumbling into them, the rough bark scraping his bones and catching at his clothes. It was getting colder as well, his thin t-shirt and shorts offering little protection against the chill. Stretch started to shiver, wrapping his arms around himself to hold in whatever meagre warmth he could, but he could still hear the dull rattle of his own bones as he shook. 

The creature paused and made a weird, rough sound deep in its throat.

"what? what it is?" Stretch looked around a little wildly, half expecting to see something else crawling out of the shrubbery, ghouls, vampires, the knights of Ni, who the fuck knew. 

What he wasn’t expecting was for the creature to say abruptly, "Get on my back."

"uhhhh.” There was probably a good reply for that, but Stretch felt like his mind short-circuited, leaving him with only a mess of vowels and constants to string together into incoherency.

"Get on my back," the creature repeated impatiently, “I'll carry you."

Well. If this guy was gonna eat him, he'd already be chow. When in the woods, do as the creatures did, he guessed. 

The creature crouched down and Stretch managed to clumsily clamber up, using the bristling bones as handholds until he could settle on its spine. It was more comfortable than he would have guessed and almost before he finished the thought, they were off. He scrambled to grab hold, clinging desperately as it ran unerringly through the woods. Its large paws were silent as they fell on the underbrush, never missing a step or falling for a trick of shadows, weaving easily between the tree trunks and bushes so that they didn’t even brush against Stretch’s legs. He huddled down against the spine behind that large, ridged skull, and into the warm bone beneath him, and let the world fade around him. 

It seemed like hardly any time at all passed before the creature slowed again, then stopped. Stretch slowly loosened his hold, half-expecting to find something blocking their path. But in front of them was the tree line and he could see a single yellowed light in the distance, the one from Red’s porch. 

Stretch slid off the creatures back and took a couple of stumbling steps towards it, choking on relief and wonder. 

“how did you know to bring me here…” Stretch trailed off and looked back. Those crimson eyes cut through the darkness and memory clicked like a key turning in a lock, a half-forgotten dream of crimson eyes through window glass, staring in at him. “it’s you! you’ve been watching me!”

The creature only gazed back at him, unperturbed. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“the fuck you don’t, you liar!” Stretch sputtered. “I saw you outside my window, you…you creeper!”

Maybe not wise to shout names at the dragon creature who’d saved his life, but it’d been a long night. Didn’t seem to matter much, the creature only rolled their shoulders in an approximation of a shrug. “You’re a stranger on my territory. That bears watching.”

“oh, are there bears out there now?” Stretch snapped. “are they spying on me, too? ‘cause i have the right to bear arms of my own, you know!” Or, you know, he bet Miss Maggie sold civil war muskets alongside the bicycles and probably wouldn’t bat an eye to sell him one.

An irritated exhale puffed smoke out through the creature’s nasal cavity. “All you have to do is stay out of the woods, fool. Even you should be able to manage that.”

“i didn’t mean to go into them the first time, my dog—my dog!” All his anger slid away and Stretch fell to his knees on the ground, his skull in his hands, “oh, fuck, _the dog_ , red is gonna be so upset.” Tears were burning in his sockets, he’d fucked up big this time, Red was so kind to him and all Stretch gave him in return was bullshit and pain. 

“Outsider, look up.” Gruffly said, but not unkind, and he did, still blinking hard. To see the dog sitting on the porch, wagging his tail happily and brimming with delight from their adventure. 

“you little bastard,” Stretch said, relieved. Seriously, he was glad Mutt was okay and not only because it’d give him a chance to murder the brat himself. 

A nudge at his back made him startled and he turned to see the creature next to him, “Go on, outsider. Count your luck this once and don’t come back to the woods.”

Like he was about to hop on Trip Advisor to plan another tour? “trust me, you wouldn’t catch me in there on a bet.”

“Keep your bets and stay away.” The creature turned and started walking towards the woods, only to hesitate, glancing back with those deep red eyes staring at him unblinking. “Outsider,” it said, softly, “I would have hated to kill you.”

“yeah, well, i would’ve hated to die, so, thanks, dread pirate roberts, i’m off.” Stretch didn’t wait for a reply, only scrambled to his feet and headed towards the house, but he could have sworn he heard a soft sound behind him, almost like a laugh. 

He trudged up to the porch, squinting in the glaring yellow light and the dog let out a happy bark, tail wagging furiously. 

“shhhh!” Stretch scolded. He snagged his bag from the chair on the back porch, he’d had more than enough of the night air, probably enough for ten years or so. “i’m mad enough at you right now, if you wake up red, i’m selling you to the kids tomorrow along with the candy.”

The dog only kept thumping his tail unrepentantly, following Stretch into the house all the way up the stairs to his room. He hopped up on the bed next to Stretch as he sprawled out on the thin mattress, settling in with a sigh by his hip. 

Probably Stretch should take a hot shower and wash away any lingering stench from…everything. At the very least he could curl up on the bed in a ball of incoherent, gibbering terror, probably nobody would fault him for that. Probably.

Instead, he dug out his phone from his bag. It felt heavy in his hand, the weight of it more than mere electronics and he only held it for a long moment. Then he opened the messaging app and started scrolling through his brother’s old texts. 

They were hard to read. The first few only curious, barely tinged with worry as they wondered where he’d gotten off to so early and with every lack of reply, the texts were worse, moving through panic to angry scolding, then outright fear before finally into resignation. His little brother was so very worried and had no idea where he was, if he was truly safe, and Stretch couldn’t even promise he was. 

_hey bro, i have a place to stay,_ he wrote, _made some friends. i’m doing okay._

It was the truth. Mostly.

He started to set his phone aside, but before he could, it buzzed with a reply despite the late hour. Stretch took a long, slow breath, let it out, then checked the message. 

_That’s good. I love you, Pappy._

Tears stung in his sockets again, trailing down his face in twin warm streams. He wiped them away impatiently, then had to fend off the dog when he tried to lick them away with a whine. Once he was no longer in danger of smothering from a wet tongue, he texted back a hasty, _love you, too, bro._

Stretch closed his sockets and let his head fall back against the thin pillow. One hand settled into the dog’s thick fur, the sturdy warmth of its body cuddled close to him and in the other, he held his phone tightly against his sternum, right over his damaged, aching soul.

* * *

tbc


	17. Law and Order

* * *

When Stretch woke up the next day, he hardly felt like he’d slept at all, every bone in his body aching and the inside of his skull felt like a dull and muzzy gray. 

No surprise there, not really, he hadn’t exactly snoozed peacefully. Probably would’ve been more concerned if he’d had; somehow, having troublesome nightmares after almost getting eaten by horrifying eldritch beings seemed like the healthier option than sleeping like a baby. A few mental scars after something like that seemed more than reasonable.

Wasn’t time for a trip to a head shrinker right now, though, he had a job to do and he was gonna do it. So he put the mental brakes on dealing with everything that happened the day before--

(and holy shit, so much happened, how did he even start processing all this shit, how--)

\--and crawled out of bed. He pulled on his last pair of clean clothes, made a mental note to beg Red for the use of his washing machine, and stumbled downstairs to open the shop with the dog at his heels. 

Stretch winced away from the bright morning sunshine that streamed in when he pulled the cord to raise the shades, wishing deeply for a cup of coffee, even one of his brother’s that always managed to taste sort of like dirt and rancid tree bark had a coffee bean baby. 

Red had a coffee maker in the kitchen, but he didn’t want to risk waking him up sneaking into his apartment. He told himself it wasn’t because of last night’s unintentional adventure, nope, he definitely wasn’t trying to keep from talking about it with Red as long as possible. A long, furious chat about meeting Miss Bone Cruncher U.S.A. and Smaug's undead cousin were the last thing he wanted right now. 

Maybe he could head back over to Miss Maggie’s this afternoon and see if she had a cheap coffee maker he could keep behind the counter. Had to be at least one old Mr. Coffee buried in all that junk. But something about going back into the thrift shop made him uneasy and he shook it away, focusing on getting the store opened up.

Mutt was underfoot the entire time, nearly tripping him more than once, and maybe Stretch should have rethought taking in this dog because it was starting to look like it brought a daily murder attempt along with him like a special toy surprise. Snagging a can of dog food from the shelf and dumping it into the plastic bowl Red scrounged from somewhere was less about providing a nutritious meal and more self-defense. Once Mutt was fed and snoozing, though, it was easier to get into the swing of things. 

Stretch was buried in the inventory book, contemplating whether to merge the ‘monthly crotch rags’ and ‘cooter plugs’ into one listing to make them slightly easier to find, when the bell ringing over the door made him look up. His greeting faltered when he saw the Sheriff stalk in. Hat nearly brushing the top of the door, still wearing those mirrored aviator sunglasses, and his heavy cowboy boots clomping on the wooden floor as he came directly to the front counter and propped both ham-sized fists on his broad hips. 

“Morning!” Buford boomed out cheerfully. A greeting that bright didn’t make it seem like he was here in an official capacity, hey, guess even the fuzz needed to buy toilet paper. It still took a minute for the knee-jerk dread at the sight of that uniform that settled in Stretch’s non-existent stomach to fade. 

Buford wasn’t like the cops back in Ebott, Stretch told himself, this was Backwater. If the town was a little weird and had ghosts and sentient scarecrows, plus kept horrible creatures out in the woods with plagues dripping from the needle-sharp teeth they used to eat the souls of the unwary, then at least the Humans here were generally very nice. 

Besides, if Buford were meanspirited today, he could always tattle to Granny Collemore when she came in for her next toilet paper run.

Stretch swallowed hard and tried a couple words before finally managing a simple, “morning.”

From Buford’s broad grin, a person would have thought Stretch offered some philosophizing to rival Socrates. “Morning, yes, it is at that.”

Stretch nodded. His relief at that smile made him weak, his skull bobbling unsteadily on his cervical vertebrae like a dashboard ornament. “can i help you find something?

“Naw, came by to see how you were doing.” Buford hitched his pants up, settling his saucer-sized belt buckle under the soft push of his belly. Reflected in the mirror of his sunglasses was the space behind the counter, Stretch and the register and the small row of cleaning supplies, distorted like the other side of the looking glass and he did not want to be thinking about other Universes right now. "Saw ya had a little trouble out in the woods.”

Stretch faltered, briefly speechless. His tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth, too dry as he fumbled out, “wha…how did you…?”

"Eh, a lawman’s gotta know what's going on in his town,” Buford leaned down and poked through one of the little wooden half-barrels filled with penny candy that lined the front of the counter. He picked one of the sour balls, unwrapping the shiny green foil and popping the small candy into his mouth to tuck into the round of his cheek. “Sent a little help your way when I saw what was going on, glad to see he got there in time." Buford shook his head sadly, “Nasty things out there in the woods this time of year and that’s the truth.”

“he…he did,” Stretch said, helplessly. No point in lying about it, but how could Buford possibly know? And he’d sent that strange bone dragon creature to help him, but how could he have sent a warning? The idea of that skeletal creature fumbling with a cell phone in its claws was nearly ridiculous enough to pry a hysterical giggle from Stretch’s clotted throat. Were there cameras in the woods, was the creature summoned from a portal in Buford’s basement? So many hows and wheres and whys, there were questions piling on top of questions, cluttering up Stretch’s already overstuffed mind, but only one managed to bubble through to the tarry surface. More demanding than he’d meant, Stretch asked, “how did you know?”

Buford stood up straight, broad shoulders squaring. The change in posture seemed to bring on a transformation, from a Rosco P. Coltrane to a more of a Rick Grimes. From the top of his hat to the golden star on his chest, and his perfectly ironed uniform leant him an aura of competence. It still put him as shorter than Stretch, but somehow made him bigger than life. There was no bumbling, jovial small-town sheriff here, this was a lawman, and there wasn’t so much as a hint of a smile as he said, "I see everything, son." And tipped down those mirrored sunglasses. 

The eyes that lay beneath them were pupil-less, the sockets filled with orbs that were the milky-white of severe cataracts, crisscrossed with thin, fleshy threads like cobwebs.

Stretch barely had time to register what he was seeing before Buford settled his sunglasses back in place. He swallowed hard against the dryness in his throat, strange thoughts of demons and bargains with the devil like their own trash tornado in the back of his mind. "are you…here for something, then?"

Buford only chuckled and the sour ball clacked against his teeth as he rolled it to the other side of his mouth. "Just to check on ya. You might be a city boy, but I’ve taken a liking to you, son, and I ain’t the only one. People in Backwater take care of our own.” There was a strange solemnness to those words, almost a pact, then Buford’s mouth quirked up on one side beneath his bushy mustache. “Though I might as well help myself to a Pepsi-Cola while I'm here." He leaned in, conspiratorially, and it was easier than Stretch thought it might be to keep himself from leaning away. Buford smelled faintly of cherries and tobacco, and his teeth were a clean, even white. "Don't tell the missus, she don't like me having too much caffeine." 

Stretch nodded and said in his own whisper, "tell her what?"

Buford roared a laugh and grabbed his hat to slap it against his knee, hooting out, "That's the spirit!” He settled his hat back on his mussed hair and took a soda from the cooler, tossing a buck on the counter as he called back, “Take care, son."

“i will,” Stretch said, softly, but it was only for the tinkling bell above the door as Buford strolled back out. 

He was still standing at the counter, the dog snoozing at his feet, fidgeting with the pen on the counter and not writing a single damn thing when the door opened again. Stretch could only stare back at the intense crimson eye lights that latched onto his own as Edge walked through the front door and for once, those gorgeous hips were the furthest thing from his mind.

* * *

tbc


	18. Electric Boogaloo

* * *

It was funny how some things become automatic. Stretch was still thinking about Buford when Edge came into the store not long after the sheriff left. Still thinking about those strange white eyes of his, wondering at exactly how much he could see. How much, how far, how deep did it go. Stretch knew a little something himself about seeing a bit too much. 

Still, habits were habits. Even though his mind wasn’t necessarily working in the here and now, Stretch automatically stood up straight and greeted Edge when he came in, customer service skills were a heck of a learned trait, even if he was the only one who worked here that had them. 

“morning, hey, what’s up? what do you—" _need_ , he didn’t get to say. He barely had time to notice that Edge didn’t look like his normal gorgeous self, hips notwithstanding. Sure, he was wearing his normal motorhuckle gear and he was walking like he was on his way to kill Captain America. But he looked pale, his skull chalk-white and stark, his eye lights faded to a shade closer to dull pink. 

That wasn’t what cut off his ‘can i help you’ spiel. Nope, that was Edge stalking right over to the counter and around it into the register area. Stretch found himself roughly pulled into Edge’s arms and held in a painfully tight hug that nearly threatened to crack ribs. 

Okay? This was new but fuck it if Stretch wasn’t going to go for it. He wrapped both arms around Edge and squeezed back, relished the feel of that long, lean body against his own, even buffered under a layer of leather. “um. hi?”

Edge said nothing, only held on, with all ten fingers digging in through the back of Stretch’s t-shirt and damned if he was gonna try fight his way loose. Was it his imagination or was Edge shaking a little? Or maybe that was the earth moving under his feet because Edge smelled so good, no bone cologne could compare. Like spice and woodsmoke, like the heavenly pies he made for Mama’s.

Nothing to be done for it, might as well dive into the deep end and see if he could drown. Stretch closed his sockets and basked in it, reveled in it. Maybe this was some weird frosting on top of an already bizarre cake but Stretch really wanted his slice. 

After a minute, Edge was showing no signs of letting up and much as Stretch would’ve been perfectly fine standing like this all day, probably he should say something. It’d be pretty hard to run register if he was stuck to Edge like a conjoined twin and considering that they were sort of the same person, maybe better not to risk it. 

It was just a damn shame that Stretch was so shitty at digging beneath the layers of other people’s traumas. Hell, he could barely take a shovel to his own. 

He managed to work up enough air to wheeze out, “is…something wrong?” A horrible thought occurred. What if he wasn’t the only person the lady ghoul went to visit last night? Maybe she took the nickel tour of the woods, maybe Buford’s all-seeing eye blinked and missed something. “is frisk okay?”

“Yes,” Edge choked out. His voice was muffled into Stretch’s shoulder. “Everything is fine.”

Stretch shifted in his arms and only managed about an inch in any direction. “don’t take this the wrong way, but as fine as this feels, you don’t _seem_ fine.”

That didn’t get any reply. Instead, Edge loosened his grip just enough to press his face into the hollow of Stretch’s collarbone where he inhaled deeply, mouth opened as if he wanted to taste whatever scent gathered there, get the whole experience. 

Um. Holy shit. Okay, well, that was a fetish Stretch never knew he had, and if he wasn’t pinned like a sardine in Edge’s kung-fu grip, he might’ve honest to angel flailed at the feel of damp, hot breath against his clavicles. Every time Edge decided to go through his scratch ‘n sniff routine, it sent willie wonkers tingling right up his spine and right down his pants. All he could do was grit his teeth and stare blankly up at the ceiling as he tried desperately not to embarrass himself any more than the usual. 

Finally, all too soon, Edge drew away. He took two steps back, putting some distance between them. He seemed almost embarrassed now and Stretch could only reluctantly let him go. 

He was really, really grateful for his work apron right about now; good for catching dust and gook, with a side bonus of hiding inconvenient boners. Hopefully it wasn’t the not-at-all-a-pencil-in-his-pocket that chased Edge away. “not that i mind, like, really not, but you think you could let me in on what that was all about?”

“I’m sorry,” Edge said, stiffly. He crammed his hands into his jacket pockets and looked anywhere but at Stretch. 

“uh, nope,” Stretch shook his head, “no apologies, hugs are free real estate.” He’d been this close to Edge before a couple of times but always before there had been distractions. Now looking at him was the distraction and Stretch let his gaze linger on the razer-sharp lines of his cheekbones, the tight narrowing of his eye sockets. The crack that ran through his left socket was obviously old, the edges worn relatively smooth, smoother than their owner. 

Edge still didn’t look at him, not directly, anyway. A flick of his eye lights towards Stretch, then back away as he said, tightly. “We came very close to losing you last night. It was…upsetting.”

Oh.

Well, good news traveled fast, didn’t it, basically at the speed of light around these parts. He wondered glumly if Red was in his apartment busily composing a profanity-laden symphony titled ‘I Told You So.’ 

“How did you know?” Stretch sighed out. Maybe Frisk was tuned in to the local airwaves or Edgar Allen might branch out into branches instead of corn gossip.

“Buford,” Edge admitted. “He is the town constable, he looks after the town. Literally, in his case.”

Also had a big mouth, seemed like. “yeah, uh, he showed me his eyes.”

“Did he?” Edge seemed surprised, then pleased. “He usually wears his sunglasses. He rarely takes them off when he’s on duty because outsiders tend to find his eyes unsettling. But yes, it’s his duty to watch out for problems and he does it well.”

Stretch nodded slowly, “must be tough on him sometimes, seeing all that.” He had a little personal experience in that. 

“Buford does his duty,” Edge said with a certain finality. Welp, looked like that topic was done and Stretch was fine with that since Edge was starting to look a little calmer. His eye lights weren’t on Stretch’s but lower, focused more on the mouth region and when Stretch flicked his tongue across his teeth nervously, those crimson lights went heavy and dark. 

To his disappointment, Edge didn’t go for Ginormous Hug 2: Electric Boogaloo. Instead, he reeled back, shaking himself visibly and turning towards the door. “Well. I only wanted to check in on you, I should be going.”

“wait!” Stretch blurted and Edge hesitated, raising one browbone. “don’t go, not yet.”

He waved a hand in offering at the stool behind the counter and after a moment of hesitation, Edge stepped around the dog and took it. Mutt never stirred, burrowed down in the blanket Red had laid down for him, snoring away. Good thing they hadn’t been in the market for a guard dog.

Stretch hopped up on the counter to sit, (hey, his butt was cleaner than the whole store had been when he first got here) and wondered what the hell to do now. He’d wanted Edge to stay and now he didn’t know what to talk about. Every other chat they’d had was about some kind of Backwater weirdness, the peanut butter and pickle sandwich version of a conversation. He wasn’t sure he even knew how to have a white bread and butter chat.

Edge seemed to agree. He swiped a finger along one of the shelves behind the counter and checked the results, finding it to be relatively dust-free. “The store is looking much better since my brother hired you on.”

“yeah,” Stretch latched on to that topic gratefully, it was marginally better than bringing up the weather. “try to keep up on it. he’s paying me well enough for it, plus room and board, figured i can do my mr clean impression.” He gave the top of his skull a pat. “i’ve already got the bald part down.”

Edge made a rough, scoffing sound and even that was somehow delicious in that voice of his. “I suspect most of what fills up your board comes from my kitchen.”

Stretch suspected the same but leapt to his landlord’s defense, anyway, he owed Red that much and more. “hey, red is a damn fine microwave wrangler when he puts his mind to it.” Okay, so that was less of a leap than a trip and miss, but he’d tried. Maybe better to steer the topic boat out of the rapids and into calmer water. “my bro likes to cook, too.”

“Is he very good?” Edge leaned forward curiously, propping his chin up on a hand. 

Woah, wait, abandon ship, that was not calmer waters, that was a storm a’brewing, a freaking typhoon. “good is relative,” Stretch said stoutly.

“Ah,” One corner of Edge’s mouth curled up into a smile. “Rest assured, I would never force you to disparage your brother’s cooking. If it’s any comfort, my recipes were somewhat unique when we first came here as well. Like the garden, it took some time for my skills to come into bloom.”

“seriously?” There was a little too much naked relief in that one word but fuck it, Blue wasn’t here to hear it, “so how many years until he’s less ‘nailed it’ and more ‘chef’s table’?”

That half-smile widened. “Time is also relative, as are brothers. How is your brother, I’m assuming he’s still back in Ebott. Have you spoken to him since you came here?”

Welp, he’d avoided the storm only to end up in shark-infested waters, wasn’t that just his luck, “sort of,” Stretch hedged.

Edge’s teeth parted in a silent ‘ah’ as he successfully decoded that message. “You texted him. Well, that’s better than leaving him completely in the dark.”

“i think he’s doing okay. he was even before i left.” He really hoped so, but then, Blue settled in easily enough from the start. From the Human’s perspective, his bro looked a little like he’d stepped out of some kind of cartoon. He was small and adorable, his starry eye lights in his huge sockets were as cute as if Disney blessed him from beyond the grave. Stretch didn’t begrudge his brother for that, ‘course he didn’t, but that didn’t make his own experiences easy cheesy. “frisk was pretty right about ebott. when it comes to monsters, it sure isn’t backwater.”

“I’m sorry.” Said with enough quiet sincerity to make Stretch shift uncomfortably. 

He shrugged weakly. “eh, not your fault.”

“No, but I can still let you share your pains.” Edge reached up and took his hand. He rubbed a scarred thumb gently over his knuckles and Stretch caught his breath. “You know, I used to dream about coming to the surface. Back in my world, in the Underground. Frisk told you that it was a place of LV, not love. My brother and I spent much of our time there simply struggling to survive.” The reminiscence in Edge’s voice held no hint of fondness, but there was a certain faint wistfulness. “I had such grand dreams of what the surface world would be like back then. Hope was difficult to come by in my universe, I never truly believed a human would come and when they did, well.” Edge chuckled and there was the fondness missing from before. “Frisk was not at all what I imagined.”

“did the surface world live up to your dreams?” Stretch asked, curiously. His own dreams of the Aboveground were shaken to their foundations barely an hour into the sunlight, when the first Humans to arrive greeted them not with welcome, but with automatic rifles. 

“In some ways,” Edge said. “Mostly, it’s very different from what I imagine. But like Frisk, not necessarily in a bad way.”

“ebott is sure fucking different then i imagined,” Stretch only realized how hard he was squeezing Edge’s hand when both of their joints popped. He loosened his grip, then pulled away entirely, picking up the pen from the counter to fiddle with; at least if he broke that, he’d be the only one stained. “doesn’t matter, anyway. i’m not there right now, am i.”

“Indeed not. You’re here, and Backwater is probably as different from Ebott as it is the Underground.” Edge stood in a jangling, creaking rhapsody of leather and buckles. “On that note, I do need to get going.”

Stretch stood too, hopping down from the counter. Much as he’d like Edge to stay, he did have some work to get done and who knew what Edge needed to get back to. “thank you for checking in on me.”

“Of course.” Too fast for Stretch to do more than blink, Edge leaned in and Stretch stood frozen as he pressed a chaste kiss to his cheekbone, the delicate scrape of his teeth almost ticklish against sensitive bone. He pulled back before Stretch managed to gather up all his scattered wits, and his smile was the soft, real one as he said, “I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

“soon,” Stretch parroted dumbly. He stood there like an idiot and watched Edge leave, only coming back to himself at the jangle of the bell over the door. Then he cursed himself, roundly and in every language he knew, including modified flamespeak. Smooth moves, there, Marvin Gaye, couldn’t even turn your head for a real kiss? Just stood there with the 'crotch plug' store book and didn’t even try to kick it up a notch? But he’d gotten one hell of a hug and a hand fondle, that was worth nearly getting eaten by Lady Cthulhu out there. 

Well, almost.

“mind not getting your sop all over my counter?”

Stretch whirled around, barely managing not to trip over his own feet, to see Red standing in the hallway entrance. He was leaning heavily on his cane with a brutally unimpressed look on his face. 

Fuck. 

“i’m sorry—” Stretch began and faltered, unsure of what to say. He’d tried to listen to Red, he really had. He’d warned Stretch against starting anything with his bro from the beginning, offered plenty of warnings against rebound fucks and people getting hurt, and Stretch had _tried._ Except he hadn’t, had he, not really, and he could try to blame Edge’s hips and that gorgeous voice all he wanted; in the end, it was his fault, just like everything else. He hadn’t really been fighting that hard, why would he, it wasn’t like he wanted to win. 

Red only sighed heavily and waved him off. “ain’t nothing to be sorry for. toldja before, i ain’t worried about my bro. you’re the one keepin’ me awake at night.”

“speaking of worrying,” Stretch took a deep breath before plunging forward, away from the sharks and heading into the shallows where the piranhas swam. “look, before anyone else decides to spill the beans, i need to tell you something.”

Red held up a hand and Stretch fell silent. “lemme get my coffee first.”

Coffee sounded better than it had any right to and, in his chest, Stretch’s soul gave an uncomfortable lurch like it could hop out and get a cup of its own. Hopefully, he asked, “can i get some?”

“yeah, sure,” Red turned back towards the apartment and tossed back over his shoulder, “whatcha want in it?”

“honey?” May as well dream big. 

“yeah, darlin’?”

What? ”No!” Stretch blurted. “I mean…I didn’t…”

“yeah, yeah,” Red snickered. “i gotcha, brat.”

It was both entirely too long and much too quickly that Red made his way back with two heavy white mugs that looked as if they’d been stolen from Mama’s diner. He handed one to Stretch and settled in to lean against the counter, sipping from his own. “so, this about why you and my bro were cozying up behind the counter?”

“uh, sort of,” Stretch hedged. He stalled by taking a sip of his coffee, glorying in the thick, over-sweetened brew. “he came by because buford got a hold of him.” 

Red lurched upright as if someone goosed him right on his tailbone. Hot coffee sloshed over his hand and he hissed, shaking his wet, stinging fingers as he demanded, “he did what now? what the fuck happened?”

“it’s not _that_ bad.”

It was a weak attempt at best, not that it mattered. Red didn’t fall for it in the slightest. He didn’t move, there was no noticeable change in his breathing or posture, but the sardonic humor that seemed to cling to Red like another shirt evaporated entirely and left behind nothing but cold sincerity. “buford don’t exactly text, he don’t get ahold of anyone unless—” Red stopped and gave Stretch a coolly assessing glance that he squirmed beneath. Quietly, he said, “kid, what did you do?”

“i didn’t do it!” Stretch blurted and no amount of defending himself to his own brother or even the Ebott police could have prepared him for this. “the dog ran off, but i didn’t go into the woods! not until—there was this…this thing!” Stretch gestured wildly, trying ineffectively to convey with skinny bone hands the shadowy, awful creature that lured him into the dark last night. He couldn’t hold back a shudder of revulsion, simply thinking about it was filling him with a renewed sense of horror. “it looked like a woman and then it didn’t, she was singing, she was doing _something,_ and i couldn’t stop myself, i couldn’t even think!”

He stopped, panting, and Red said nothing. He only stood there statue-still and Stretch would have given about anything for the door to open, the bell to jangle as someone looking for a fresh supply of ass wipers broke that awful silence. 

Desperately, Stretch pressed on, letting out a nervous laugh. “anyway, i’m okay. she didn’t touch me or bite me or anything. i got out okay.” He didn’t mention the bone dragon, wasn’t even sure why, but Red was still frozen and silent over hearing about one terrifying encounter, maybe better not to mention two.

“red?” Stretch tried, hating how his voice sounded so small and forlorn. In a dismal corner of his mind, he was already mentally packing his bags. He couldn’t go back to Ebott, not now, not yet, but where else could he go, what other job could he possibly find? Maybe a waiter at Mama’s or maybe the thrift shop needed a helping hand. He didn’t know. The little money he had wouldn’t last long and definitely not in a bigger city. He didn’t really have any options, no choices at all.

He jerked back as Red suddenly jolted into movement, limping around the counter without his cane. He staggered almost drunkenly and then swung around to violently ram his fist into the first rack of the shelves. The wooden frame rocked and groaned, scattering boxes and cans to the floor on either side. A small bag of cornmeal fell and burst open, scattering dusty yellow across the floorboards. 

“i…i’ll just…” Stretch couldn’t say go, he couldn’t, saying it would make this real, and he couldn’t let it be real. He took a step towards the hallway, tasting heavy tears on the back of his tongue. 

Red’s voice stopped him, “kid.” 

Stretch stood there and watched Red wrap both arms around himself. The fingers of one hand were streaked with marrow, he’d probably cracked his phalanges, but Red only shuddered faintly, drawing in a long breath and letting it out in a shaky rattle as he said, “if i’d’ve known she was awake, i woulda warned ya.” 

Oh.

Oh, that made a terrible amount of sense and it didn’t make Stretch feel one fucking bit better to realize that Red wasn’t mad at _him._

“it’s fine, red,” Stretch said, gently. It was hard to bank his own fears, but he managed, “it’s not your fault. i’m okay.”

Red heaved out a hitching little sigh and Stretch didn’t need Buford’s powers or his own magic to see that Red didn’t believe that, not even a little. 

“okay,” he muttered under his breath, low and indistinct, “okay, okay.” Then louder, “okay, kid, get on out of here.”

“you’re firing me?” Stretch blurted, horrified. He’d begun to believe it was all right, more fool he, hadn’t he had the rug ripped out from under him enough times by now, when would he ever learn?

“what?” Red said, aghast. “fuck no! take a little time off, is all, after a shitty night like that, you need it. go see a movie, ‘wizard of oz’ ’s playin’, think it’ll be right up your alley.”

Relief left him weak, but he made no move towards the door. “but. your hand?”

“what about my hand?” Red raised his browbones and his hand at once and Stretch stared at the clean, pristine bones in confusion, what the fuck, he was sure he’d seen—

“okay, but,” Stretch still didn’t want to leave, some part of him vaguely convinced that if he left he wouldn’t be able to come back, like this shabby little store was some kind of fae place. “here, let me clean up.”

“i can fucking clean,” Red said impatiently. “been doing it since long before you got here.” He hooked his perfectly unbroken thumb at the door, “now, git! scoot!”

It seemed better not to comment on Red’s cleaning skills. Stretch hung up his apron and obediently scooted while Red limped over to the broom. 

Outside, the temperature was just above a swelter. Stretch headed towards the theater even as the kids pulled up by the shop and dropped their bikes to head in, about five minutes too late. 

Red had the right idea, he decided tiredly. A movie sounded like a good idea right about now. If, that was, he could stay awake through the opening credits.

* * *

tbc


End file.
